Resident Evil: The Story
by Ebonshire
Summary: Fanfiction based on the first game, inspired by the Gamecube remake. I've changed a few of the events to make some of the continuity errors flow a little better, and including a few scenes that were skipped over in the game. Hope you enjoy
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1 **_

_**-**_

A seemingly endless night-time forest spread almost menacingly beneath the violent whirring of the chopper blades.  
Chris Redfield gazed down at the dark foliage from his seat beside the smudged side-window and felt a distinct pang of unease in his chest.

They were out in this cold, desolate area at this god-forsaken hour to search for S.T.A.R.S (Special Tactics And Rescue Service)  
Bravo team, Alpha team's backup, with whom they had lost contact over 18 hours had been here investigating several grisly murders up here in the Arklay mountain region, northwest of Raccoon City, where victims were reported to have been brutally attacked and, apparently, eaten.

Bravo had been leading the preliminary sweep of the area, gathering intelligence ready for Alpha team to follow up.

But communication between Bravo and Alpha back at the Raccoon Police Department had dwindled and eventually ceased altogether. Short, indistinct messages received from Richard Aiken, Bravo team's telecommunications expert, had sounded hurried and vague, which had suggested they had run into trouble of some sort.

Chris narrowed his eyes and turned his attention back to re-assembling his MK-70 handgun, something he often did when he got anxious.

_Clip out, barrel off, hilt apart, check clip, clip back in..._

"Chris...?" He flinched and looked over at the slightly concerned face of Jill Valentine, her brown hair impeccable underneath her tilted navy beret. Her features shone with genuine worry about her troubled team-mate, whom she knew well after all their years of service together. "Chris, why are you so nervous? This isn't like you. It's just a precautionary check up on the Bravo team, nothing that serious, you know?" She smiled warmly over at him.

Chris hesitated before returning her smile half-heartedly,  
"I wouldn't say _nervous_, more... well... it's like I just have this _feeling_ that this isn't any ordinary mission here...Like it's something..._dangerous _that's been going on in those mountains..."  
He shrugged, looking back down at the handgun resting on his lap, "Just a stupid hunch, I guess."

Jill cocked her head to the side, frowning a little.  
"Why wouldn't it be? What do you think happened, when we lost contact with them?"

Chris sighed heavily, placing his handgun into it's holster on his black utility belt around his light green padded gelait.  
"Oh God, I don't know. It doesn't matter; forget I said anything, okay?" He turned away and stared moodily out of the side-window. Jill's expression softened and she slid smoothly across the bench to sit beside him.

"Hey, look, I wasn't being funny with you, okay? All I meant was, what possibly could have happened to them? I'm sure they're fine, perhaps it's the mountains blocking our signal?" She paused.  
"It'll be okay, Chris. Really." He tilted his head back towards her, his lips twitching into a smile.

"Yeah, I know..." His eyes met hers, "Sorry, Jill. I'm being stupid, we should be focusing on the operation at hand. I'm letting this get to me." He sat up straight and began scouring the forest below again for any trace of the missing Bravo team. Jill smiled to herself: he had that determined look back, the Chris that everyone knew: Strong, dedicated and unwilling to give up. The pride of S.T.A.R.S.

"Hey!" the shrill voice of Brad Vickers crackled over the radio, "You guys seen anything yet? It's so damn _dark _out there, I can barely see where I'm going..."

"Not yet, Brad," Chris removed and spoke clearly into the radio from his belt compartment, "But we'll keep on looking. You just focus on not getting us lost, right? We're kinda screwed if you run us off course out here in the mountains, you know, with the rate this thing drinks up fuel."

"Hey, I'm not a complete idiot, you know, I did _train_ for this job!" Brad called back, slightly annoyed, "I'll get you there in one piece. Just keep an eye out that window, yeah? I gotta concentrate."

"Look, Chris!!" Jill called suddenly, motioning rapidly towards her side-window. Chris leapt over and peered down into the gloom below. He could just make out what Jill was pointing to: a solitary helicopter lay dilapidated against the forest floor, various tree trunks lay splintered against and around it. He distinguished the large, deep blue and black S.T.A.R.S logo splayed across the side.

"What!? What is it?! What can you see?!" Brad shrieked anxiously through the radio, slowing the chopper's acceleration to a crawl.  
"I can see Bravo team's helicopter, Brad, you need to take us down! I'll get Captain Wesker!" Chris spoke loudly into the transmitter, and hastily threw open the dividing door leading to the back compartment of the chopper.

"Captain Wesker, we've spotted Bravo team's helicopter down below! Brad needs permission to land."

The familiar calm and unreadable face of Albert Wesker turned from the window to regard Chris from behind his black shades. He quickly ran a tanned hand over his slicked-back blonde hair before rising and nodding,

"Affirmative. Permission granted, tell Brad to take us down as close to the site as possible. Barry and I will lead the preliminary search."

Barry Burton looked up immediately from his seat in the far corner, readying his prized Magnum revolver and setting his face into its usual hardened, lets-get-to-business look.  
"Ready at your command, Captain Wesker," grunted Barry.

Joseph Frost, who was sat rigidly next to Barry, simply murmured a little and tightened his red bandana around his shaven head, grasping his favourite shotgun to his chest, eyes flickering to the floor. Chris nodded, motioned a quick salute and departed back to the main compartment, where Jill sat, readying her handgun and checking her various supplies. Chris walked past and entered the cockpit, settling into the empty seat next to Brad.

He motioned at Brad to shift one side of his earphones over to speak to him directly.  
"Wesker's given permission to land, you need to take us down as close to the site as you can." Chris pointed out of his side window, "The helicopters grounded down over there, where do you think you can land?"

Brad's eyes were narrowed into dark brown slits, squinting into the feebly-lit gloom outside from beneath his too-big communications helmet and huge earphones, which rested lopsidedly on his head. His young, anxious face shone with beads of sweat, and his front teeth nibbled at his bottom lip nervously.

"Well... the safest place would be that clearing a ways over to the east there, to make sure I can land and take off again without hitting any trees and slicing the blades off, yeah? That close enough?"  
"Heh...Anything to get away from the action, huh Brad?" Chris grinned as Brad recoiled in humiliation. "Kidding! Yeah, that should be fine, head for that clearing, I'll group with the others.

"Roger that. Taking her down."

Chris felt a cool blast of damp air hit his skin as he cautiously stepped out of the chopper, and he couldn't help shivering slightly. His MK-70 was raised as he side-stepped to let the others off, his eyes trying to adjust to the enclosing dark of the forest. Jill drew up to his side, adjusting her thick shoulder pads.  
"Well I guess we should start with Bravo's helicopter." She clutched her elbows to herself and shivered, "Jeez, it's freezing up here. Let's just check this place over, find Bravo and get the hell out."

Chris nodded, teeth chattering a little,  
"I agree. Wesker and Barry are leading the search, so we should bring up the rear."

Wesker strolled casually out of the chopper, fingering his custom handgun almost lovingly. Barry came after, his steel eyes set unmoving from the deep forest ahead, followed closely by Joseph.

"Hey, you guys be careful out there, I have a pretty bad feeling about this place..." called Brad from the cockpit.

"_You and me both_..." thought Chris sullenly.

He poked his head partway into the chopper. "You know, we could maybe use a hand searching this place? The more pairs of eyes we have, the better, then we can get out of here as fast as possible." There was silence for a moment, then an anxious cough.

"Ummm...I think I'd probably better stay here... you know, to secure the escape route and that... in case there's trouble..." He lapsed into an embarrassed silence.

Chris smirked to himself, unsurprised by this outcome. "Sure thing... _chickenheart_ ..." He added in a playful tone.  
"OI!!! Don't call me that, jerk! I was being serious! Just get out there already! Dick..."  
Chris was laughing to himself as he joined the others, Wesker and Barry beginning to lead the way into the shadows of the looming forest.

"What's so funny? Teasing Brad again? We've got work to do, Chris," scolded Jill, and Chris snorted a final time before turning his thoughts back to the task at hand. As they approached the grounded helicopter, Wesker paused and turned to face them.

He addressed them in a confident, yet drawling tone, "Right, Joseph will go investigate the helicopter, Barry and I will investigate the perimeters, and Chris and Jill, you search for any secure buildings in the area. Move out."

Joseph hesitated before moving determinedly towards the helicopter. Wesker and Barry paced quickly over to the west, disappearing into the misty gloom. Jill and Chris exchanged glances, nodded and moved in the opposite direction, keeping ever vigilant as the eerie sound of night-time insects and low thunder encased them.

Joseph approached the helicopter, and found the site to be utterly derelict. The thin trees surrounding had been splintered and felled by the blades, suggesting it had landed in a hurry, careless of the surroundings. He could see from a way away that the main door was ajar, and an unsettling quiet surrounded the abandoned machine. He edged warily towards it, shotgun poised, all senses trained on the site ahead.  
He reached the main door and paused, back to it, before peering cautiously round the corner and into the helicopter itself.

At first, he saw nothing, his strong flashlight revealing only broken wiring and overturned cargo, the control panels fizzing quietly and showering dim sparks. He moved the flashlight over the ruined contents, and a sudden glint from the floor caught his eye.  
He moved the light slowly downwards, and let out a startled gasp from the back of his dry throat.

The glint was from a blood-covered communications helmet, which contained the still head of Kevin Dewey, Bravo team's pilot.

His face was a ghastly off-white colour, his mouth agape in a silent agonized scream. His right eye was gone, the empty socket covered with three large, deep scratch-marks. Joseph stared wide eyed at the mutilated corpse, his mouth quivering, and he drew in a painfully sharp gasp of air.  
He backed up jerkily, stumbling over rocks and roots. She stood in stunned silence for a moment or two, hardly believing what he'd just seen. He twitched his head away and tightened his grip on his shotgun.

"_But...what about the others? Is the rest of the Bravo team...?...__**Shit**__..._" He steadied his breathing and composed himself, "_Gotta regroup...We have to find the others, and fast..." _

He stole a last glance at the ravaged helicopter before starting shakily back towards the chopper. He'd been going 10 seconds or so when a sudden crunch of leaves made him stop in his tracks.  
He strained his ears against the murky darkness as the crunches lapsed into a deafening silence.  
Joseph remained frozen, his eyes twitching back and forth across the shadowy landscape ahead.

Another crunch from his left. He spun round immediately, his finger brushing the trigger of his shotgun.  
His breathing came out in ragged gasps, his heart pounding fit to burst.  
After a few moments of silence, he lowered the gun slightly, breathing a little deeper. He was about to carry on when a low growl emerged from the bushes behind him.

He twirled round just in time to scream as a huge, rotting Doberman hound leapt at him, fangs bared and dripping with saliva.

He was thrown to the floor under the sheer power of the beast, shrieking in agony as it savaged his face, tearing the flesh from his cheeks and lips. He fired a single shell from his shotgun with his last ounce of strength, managing only to scatter crows from the overhanging branches of the surrounding trees.  
The air exploded with howls as more hounds joined the fray, ripping at his legs and arms, devouring meat and crunching bone.

The last thing Joseph saw was the gaping mouth of the Doberman, his own blood and flesh dripping in chunks from it's savage fangs. His last feeling one of utmost agony and despair as his life was brutally consumed, choking and spluttering as death's bitter taste was thrust upon him.

A single shot pierced the air. Chris twitched his head sharply towards the noise, as a multitude of crows flapped frenzily above their heads and into the distance. Chris turned to Jill: They exchanged a shocked look and a nod, before jogging quickly towards where the noise had come from.

Chris broke off to the west as Jill carried on ahead, approaching the helicopter site. There was a disturbing munching noise emanating from the darkness.  
Jill held her breath, pointing her flashlight so slowly towards the cause of the noises.  
A pack of six rabid-looking dogs were tearing at something stretched out at an awkward angle below them. Her dark eyes widened as she saw partially chewed fingers and a bloodstained arm protruding from underneath the hungry pack.

She let out a loud unwilling gasp, and a single hound turned slowly towards her, still chewing at a strip of meat hanging from its jaws. As the dog moved away from the corpse slightly, she caught a glimpse of the ragged and torn face of Joseph, his teeth and gums exposed, patches of flesh gouged and bleeding.  
His custom shotgun lay a few feet away from him, his broken fingers still seemed like they were stretching to reach it.  
Her eyes flickered back to the hound, who was emitting a low murderous growl and inching slowly towards her. She took a single step back, and a twig crunched under her black laced boot.

The dog shrieked a deafening howl and bounded towards her, panting furiously. Jill screamed shrilly and fell backwards, hitting the earth with a dull thud. The hound was almost upon her when a sudden blast from behind fired it back towards its pack, bleeding and whining.

"Jill, c'mon!" Chris wrapped his left arm around her and helped her up, pulling her along, away from the pandemonium of the now advancing pack of rabid, frenzied canines. As Jill stumbled and tripped along, she could feel a splat of the dog's blood running steadily down her cheek, and she rubbed at it, her face scrunched up in disgust and panic.  
Chris peered quickly over his shoulder to see the pack gaining ground, galloping madly after them, fangs bared and snarling.

He increased their speed, tugging at Jill to run faster. A whirring of rotors suddenly blasted the air, a weak spotlight illuminating the trees around them. Chris looked up in time to see the S.T.A.R.S helicopter fly past at great speed, its posture unsteady and hurried.

"Brad! Where the hell's he going!?!" Chris cried, unable to hide the panic in his voice. His eyes shimmered.

"**You cowardly chickenshit!"** he screamed at the sky, "**You fucking spineless son-of-a-bitch!"  
**

Tears of fear and rage stung his eyes. He could feel his legs weakening; the dogs were gaining inevitably upon them. As a last, pathetic stand, he pushed Jill off to the side and spun around to face the oncoming wave of snapping jaws and hot, panting breath.

He let out a long, guttural growl and brought his right arm up over his face, turning his head away and squeezing his eyes shut, hoping to attract the worst of the attack and leave Jill time to escape... The leader of the pack threw itself at Chris, it's gaping, dripping jaws heading straight for him...

**BANG** ...

A powerful shot ruptured the dog's head, sending rotting flesh and mangled brain splattering onto the leaves below. Chris whirled around to see Wesker, gun smoking, expression ever-calm and composed. Barry lurked behind, aiming his magnum revolver at multiple hounds at once.

"Chris, this way."  
Wesker's drawl retained all formality and command. Chris stumbled clumsily over to where Jill lay dazed, half-curled in a ball.  
He pulled and tugged her to her feet, looping his free arm around her and guiding her forwards. Wesker fired a couple more shots at the howling group of beasts before side-stepping and following suit, moving fluidly and with utmost confidence.

Barry remained at the back, taking down one of the pursuing canines with a well aimed headshot.

As Chris stumbled along with Jill, he noticed that the trees encasing them seemed to be thinning somewhat. He looked up to see a huge building looming before them, its strong brick walls spreading out as far as he could see.  
It stood illuminated by the weak, freezing moonlight, which glinted off the vast rows of paneled windows. It emitted a cold sense of authority and tradition, and an unwelcoming air surrounded the whole area.

"Quick, head for that mansion." Wesker ordered authoritatively from behind.

The silent promise of sanctuary from this mysterious mansion seemed to give strength back to his legs, and he felt Jill straightening with determination beside him, and they ran, ran for their lives to that mansion in the moonlight...


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

-

Jill's heart soared as the huge, looming mansion came into her panic-clouded vision. She had dared a single look behind them, and turned back sharply as she saw the rabid, snarling mongrels literally snapping at their ankles as they ran.  
The sight of such a safe, solid looking structure to conceal them from these monsters gave her new strength, and she sprinted ever faster towards it, the others in tow, Chris still hanging tightly to her elbow.

Chris shot a quick glance over his shoulder, and shouted, "They'll follow us inside if we don't loose them!" He gulped hollowly as he panted for breath, "I'll get them off our backs! You all get inside and make a barricade!"

Jill stared wide-eyed at him, mouth agape," W-what are you saying!? Where are you - " Chris squeezed her elbow reassuringly,

" I have to get them off our trail! Trust me, everything'll be alright!" He let go of her abruptly, causing her to stumble a little off-balance.  
"I'll see you inside!" He shouted over his shoulder as he veered off to the right.  
He turned and skipped back a few steps, motioning wildly to the advancing dogs, desperately trying to attract attention.

"**Hey, hey, over here**!" He screamed, as the dogs snapped their heads in his direction.  
"**Come on, come on**!" He fired a few shots in their direction, causing the dogs to yowl and screech, throwing themselves after him.

"**Chris!! Don't **-"

But he was gone, the mad howling of the hounds disappearing into the mist, occasional shots echoing blankly in the stillness. Wesker and Barry shouldered open the slightly wedged front doors of the mansion and they burst into the main hall.

The interior was lavishly decorated, with red velvet curtains draping the windows, elegant occasional tables and armchairs lining the sides of the hall. A number of doors led of from the ground floor, and a thick scarlet carpet lined the stairs leading up to a balcony area.  
Jill looked around in awe.  
She turned back to Barry and Wesker, who stood regaining their breath, Barry looking especially exasperated. She looked at the front doors and winced,

"Chris..." She gulped and started back towards the doors, barging through her team-mates determinedly. Wesker caught her arm roughly.

"Jill, no. It's not safe to go back out there."

Jill pulled at his forearm halfheartedly, "I have to find Chris! He needs our help ...!"

Wesker tightened his steely grip on her, making Jill wince in pain. "It's not safe." he repeated blankly, "Besides, he's probably..." he trailed off, lips pursed. Jill stopped tugging and stared at him.

"No..." Her eyes twinkled tearfully.

Wesker slowly released her, and she clutched at her arm, massaging it gently.

"Do you really think he could have survived that? Alone?" Wesker spoke calmly yet with a disconcerting malice to his voice. Jill opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again slowly, shaking her head.

Barry grunted suddenly, and they both turned their attention in his direction.

"Shouldn't we see about securing this area?" he said, numbly. "What if there are more of those mongrels out there?"

Wesker nodded, replacing his gun. "I agree. Let's see what we can find to block up those doors."

Wesker and Barry pulled over various pieces of furniture from the corners in front of the doors, piling them up haphazardly.

"Hmph. At least this hall looks secure now." grunted Barry roughly, tightening the belt on his red protective vest. He tucked his magnum back into it's brown leather holster, his cold eyes surveying the hall. "So...What do we do now?"

Wesker leaned casually against the wall, arms folded. A single strand of hair had fallen over his smooth forehead, and he brushed it sweepingly back over.

"Looks like we're stuck here for the time being." He pushed his dark shades back up the bridge of his nose, "We should investigate this mansion and try and find anything that could give us any leads on the murders, and try and locate any remaining Bravo team members that may have come here also"  
He pushed himself gently away from the wall, "I think that's a good start."

Just as Wesker finished talking, a lone, powerful shot split the silence of the mansion's austere atmosphere. They all flinched and jerked their heads instantly towards the double doors on the right side of the hall.

"What the...?" Barry furrowed his brow and reached for his gun again, "Chris...?" he murmured.

Jill's eyes widened. "Chris! We have to find him!" She began towards the doors eagerly.

"I'm going with her," Barry announced, "Me and Chris are old partners..." He couldn't conceal the worry in his voice,  
"If that was him - ..."

Wesker cocked his head to the side and motioned a single nod,  
"Right, I'll stay and secure this area."  
" Be careful." Wesker added in a low tone as Barry began to follow, "Perhaps those dogs aren't the only things we need to worry about."

Jill glanced backwards, a creeping unease pushing on her chest. Barry placed a hand on the handle of the left-side double door, beginning a gestured countdown of three to Jill.

_One - two - three_...

Barry shouldered the door open, brandishing his Magnum through the doorway and side-stepping swiftly into the room. Jill followed, edging around the door, eyes swivelling around the room anxiously.  
This new room turned out to be a large dining room, a huge central trestle table taking up most of the available space.  
Candelabras stood rigidly upright atop the sprawling table, their cold flickering light casting unsettling shadows around the surrounding walls, their gilt handles covered in a thick layer of dust.

An ancient looking grandfather clock stood alone on the right side of the table, it's loud ominous ticking echoing throughout the room. Jill and Barry proceeded towards the other end of the table, stepping lightly but surely, senses ever alert to every flicker and breeze.  
Barry suddenly put out an arm to stop Jill.  
She froze, looking over to what Barry was staring at. In front of a heavily decorated marble fireplace, an unmistakably fresh pool of blood lay on the polished floor.

Barry edged carefully towards it, and knelt down next to it.  
He placed a finger in the substance and brought it to his nose. Jill looked on in a horrified silence.

Barry shook his head slowly, "Its blood...I hope it's not Chris'..." Jill moved over next to him, looking down, stunned.

"But...Where did it come from?" She began shivering in spasms: She'd been so sure this mansion would be safe... but how could she have been sure? It was clear something was wrong with this whole area, how could she have kidded herself it was an ordinary mission?  
Just a precautionary check!?

Bravo team were in trouble, _serious_ trouble. If they had even survived this long... Chris had been right to have had a bad feeling about his place.

_Chris..._ She shuddered to think of the state he could be in by now, what those hounds could have done to him... Why did he always have to be the hero?

Barry was surveying the ground around them carefully, and coughed quietly to get Jill's attention.  
"Look, there's a trail leading from this spot." Jill followed Barry's gesture, and saw a thin trail of scarlet drips leading away and to the single door on the wall beside the fireplace.

"Whoever was hurt certainly got away okay." Jill's heart was fluttering uncomfortably.  
"I'll go check it out."

Barry nodded in agreement. "Okay. I'll be examining this. Go steady."

He uttered the words with little emotion, and turned his attention immediately back to the blood pool.  
Jill frowned slightly and started towards the single door. She proceeded through with caution, closing it behind her.  
It had led her to an adjacent corridor, more doors to her right and a corner to her left.  
Almost immediately she heard a disturbingly close crunching sound. This was followed by several splatters and a low, tortured moan. Jill could hardly breathe with fear.

She clutched her Beretta handgun tightly and took tiny, pained steps towards the corner where the sounds were eminating from. She reached the corner and peered with utmost caution around the edge.  
She was met with a horrific sight. She could see the back of a person, their clothes ripped and bloodstained, their hairless head mangled and literally dripping with decay.

They were bent down over another figure, who was twitching and juddering underneath them. The rotting being was feeding on them like an animal, bending and ripping flesh from the body with it's bare teeth, it's ghastly fingers grasping at the corpse obsessionally.  
Jill's mouth dropped open, and she fell backwards onto the wall behind.

The creature stopped it's depraved activity and raised it's rotting head slowly. Jill watched in terrified silence as it sluggishly turned to face her, uttering a low, pained moan. It's face was a mangled husk, the skull broken inwards in several places, eyes glazed over with white sheen.  
It's flesh, what was left of it, was the colour of sour milk, with spots of brown and black decay eating into it.  
The clothing it wore suggested that had once been an ordinary human being, it's green felt jacket and brown corduroy trousers implying a particularly well-to-do background.

The creature stumbled clumsily to it's feet, it's arms reaching out almost blindly, shuffling awkwardly towards her. Jill gasped and scraped sideways along the wall, leaning as far away from the creature as possible. Her left hand felt for the doorknob of the door she came through, and she threw it open, stumbling backwards and slamming it shut.

"Jill! What's the matter? Are you alright?" Barry stood up sharply, hand wavering towards his gun.  
Jill turned to face him, eyes wild, breath exhaling in short gasps. Before she could answer him, the door banged open behind her, revealing the shambling, decaying creature. It's hands reached out hungrily towards Jill, it's lipless mouth open in a malicious snarl. Jill squealed and fell backwards, clinging to Barry's arm.

"Barry! It's a monster! Oh God, God, what is it!?" Barry stared mutely at the creature, eyebrows raised, fear and uncertainty creeping into his hardened eyes. He pulled out his Magnum fluidly, and pointed it solidly at the travesty.

"Stay back!" Barry barked loudly at the advancing creature, who shuffled ever closer to them, moaning gutturally, "I'm warning you, don't come any closer!"

The creature groaned loudly as it attempted a lunge at Jill, it's blackened fingers grasping at the air. Barry fired his magnum point blank at the creatures head, and it shattered in a burst of mangled brain and matter, dark brown blood splaying onto the nearby wall and table.  
The creature seemed to stop still for a moment, swaying slightly, before it fell abruptly backwards with a loud thud onto the polished, chequered floor.  
Jill looked down in disgust as the thing's broken skull leaked blood and pus in a rancid puddle around it, a revolting smell beginning to plague the air around them.

Barry wrinkled his nose, stepping forward and peering down at the seeping husk of decay. He curled his lip in repulsion,

"Jesus...What the hell is it!??"

He kicked the corpse lightly, causing the skull to pool out even more. He turned away, leaning against the table for support, a hand against his forehead. Jill stood meekly back from the creature's corpse, staring back and forth between it and Barry.

"This place...This mansion...There's something really, really wrong with it..." Barry's voice stuttered a little as he spoke, his steely facade faltering. Jill surveyed him worriedly, approaching him and peering up at him.

"I know... I can't figure out what's going on, it's like some sort of nightmare..." Lightning pierced the sky, flickering through the windows as if emphasizing her statement, followed by a short burst of ominous rumbling thunder. Barry looked up, his face blank and void of emotion.

"We... have to report this to Wesker," he stated matter-of-factly, and moved off hastily back towards the main hall, without even looking back. Jill glanced at the felled creature briefly, the pool of fluid still spreading gradually from underneath the corpse, before running after Barry.  
She followed him through the door to find him alone in the main hall, gazing around in a puzzled manner.

"Wesker!?" Barry called uncertainly, pacing over to the opposite side and looking around to the back of the hall. "Wesker!!?!," he repeated, louder, and turned to face Jill again.

"Christ, where's he gone? Not him as well... Everyone seems to be disappearing... Go and have a look upstairs, would ya?"

He disappeared around down an adjacent small corridor at the back of the room.  
Jill looked around, confused, and proceeded cautiously up the decorated, crimson-carpeted stairwell.  
The stairs broke off into two either side at the top, and she edged up the right set to reach the stair balcony above.

Several doors attached to this hall too, but there was no sign of Wesker.

She returned downstairs and found Barry standing alone also in the middle of the hall.

"Anything?," he asked inquiringly.

"Nothing," she replied, "The whole balcony area is empty."

"Damn...Looks like we're going to have to investigate this place by ourselves for now..."

"Mmmm..," Jill mumbled incoherently, fiddling with her Beretta.

Barry squared up to Jill and grasped her shoulders firmly but gently.

"Look, Jill, I know this is a really serious situation, and the pressure's bound to get to us, but we're here on a mission, and we have to stay professional. For our own sakes, and the sakes of any of the surviving Bravo team. They'll need our help badly, and it's our job to stay cool and do what we can. Okay?"

Barry's little speech inspired Jill, and she pushed her fear as far to the back of her mind as she could.  
"You're right," she nodded, "They're depending on us."

Barry gave her the smallest hint of a smile. "Okay. I'll check the dining room and the surrounding rooms, you take the other side." He motioned towards the right side of the hall,  
"If either of us run into trouble, let's meet in this hall. This mansion is gigantic... It'll be easy to get lost in here, so watch yourself, and keep track of where you've been."

Jill nodded determinedly, backing off towards the opposite side of the hall. Barry flashed a thumbs-up. "Be careful. I'll see you back here later."

With that, he turned and marched over to the dining room doors, disappearing through them. Jill was left alone in the cold silence of the hall. She took a deep breath and headed over to the set of double doors nearby.

Locked.

She approached a mahogany single door a way up from it. Locked also. She frowned to herself.

_Who keeps locks on this many doors? Something tells me this mansion's purpose is more than just a residence..._

She glanced over at the stairs, and, without any other options, proceeded to climb. There were two more doors on the right side of the balcony, she tried the one nearest to her, and it creaked open noisily.  
She sidled cautiously into the room, which turned out to be a long, dusty corridor, with occasional tables and thin shelves lining the edges. Dated antiques lay gathering dirt atop them, long forgotten.

She kept her gun drawn as she took small, cautious steps along the corridor, her feet scuffing small clouds of grit and dust from the grey, mucky carpet. A muffled noise made her jump as she passed a bluish door to her right, like a distant door closing.

She paused in front of it, dithering.  
Her hand shook as she twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door slightly, peering round hesitantly.  
A simple, almost empty room faced her, with a single wooden pillar splitting the room and obscuring view of the sharp corner.

She edged carefully through and proceeded slowly. A much louder, sudden bang of a door startled her, and she hopped backwards a step, gun raised in front of her protectively.  
Light, unsure footsteps followed the bang, and a figure appeared from around the invisible corner and threw itself heavily against the wall in front of her.  
In the dim, subdued light of the room, she could just make out a tall, lean frame and orange tight-fitting padded t-shirt, with a familiar blue and black logo stitched onto the sleeve...

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted dryly,

"**Richard**!"


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

_**-**_

Brad Vickers felt a deep and utterly shameful guilt as he guided the S.T.A.R.S chopper shakily away from the forest over his chapped and bitten lips. The guilt was washing over him in waves, knowing he was leaving them behind to face whatever those things were by themselves instilled a huge feeling of blame, and he hated himself for it.

But this wasn't totally selfish.  
By going for help, surely he was _aiding_ them; by informing the police department and getting them to send more backup?  
Besides, if the radios were getting too much interference out in that wilderness to pick up transmissions satisfactorily, they'd need him to go and get help.

He winced and shook his tired head sadly: That's what he wanted to believe, alright...

_You're a coward. Weak. Pathetic. A liability.  
_

All of these words circulated in his head like angry buzzing insects, stinging him over and over. But he'd had to get out of there. His own mortality, and fear of losing it, had not allowed him to stay...

"You know, we could maybe use a hand searching this place? The more pairs of eyes we have, the better, then we can get out of here as fast as possible," Chris had called back into the chopper after he'd taken them down to the clearing, landing perfectly within the confines of the trees.

Brad had immediately began to panic a little, the enclosing darkness of the creepy forest around them had already freaked him out enough sat inside the chopper, let alone being out in it...  
He had little experience with combat of any kind, he was trained only to pilot these great hulking things, ferrying the other S.T.A.R.S members to and from destinations, usually just between cities, or sometimes just on a simple mountain or training rescue.  
Being sent out here in the dead of night, with very limited vision and the looming worry of the Bravo team's situation had not sat well with him from the start.

Not at all.

To be bluntly honest, it scared him to death.

"Ummm...I think I'd probably better stay here... you know, to secure the escape route and that... in case there's trouble..." Brad had called back, trying to disguise the shake of his voice with a subtle cough.  
It was a dreadful excuse, they needed all the help they could get on a night like this. Hah. As if.

"Sure thing..._chickenheart_..." Chris had replied, his normally gentle voice dripping with sarcasm and mockery.  
Brad had felt a pang of anger and humiliation combined, and he screwed up his youthful, spot-scarred face in protest.

"OI!!! Don't call me that, jerk! I was being serious! Just get out there already! Dick..."  
Brad had whined back quietly, folding his arms across himself and pouting like a scolded child. He could hear Chris' soft, mocking laughter as he left, and

Brad sighed deeply, leaning backwards on the hard, leather seat. He tugged off his communications earphones and oversized pilot's helmet, smoothing his soft, back-combed hair down as he did so, resting them on the seat beside him.  
He scratched absent-mindedly at the rubbing collar of his bright yellow protective gelait, and loosened the laces a little on his too-tight black army boots.

_Goddamn uniform... why can't they ever give me anything that fits?  
_

He stretched and stared blankly at the numerous coloured flashing lights on the control switchboard in front of him for a while, thinking longingly about finally getting home and relaxing after being on call for the past three days. His mind wandered back to what Chris had said before he left...

"Sure thing..._chickenheart..._"

Even playing it back in his head made him flush red with embarrassment. It was a nickname all the machos back at the police department had christened him with when he joined up, when it became apparent to them that he wasn't quite as keen as they were to jump headfirst into danger.

During what combat training he _had_ had, they'd noticed his hesitation and lack of skill firing a weapon, the way he ducked and drew away timidly during hand-to-hand training, and how he was so rarely seen outside his helicopter during any assignment involving violence of any kind...

He shook his head violently, trying to shake away these unpleasant thoughts. He turned his attention back to the present, and how he'd just made his group of team-mates go off into that forest without him...

Shame bubbled in his chest, and he stood up suddenly, stooping to avoid a collision with the roof.  
He opened the rusty metal drawer underneath the switchboard and took out a half-battered black torch, testing it's feeble beam.  
He reached also for the small handgun which was kept right at the back, handling it gingerly.

It was in pristine condition, it's barrel shiny and reflective, the leather hilt strong and unscuffed. It had seen very little action...  
He tucked it into his belt and closed the drawer, taking the control key from the ignition panel and pocketing it as he headed for the partly-open hatch of the chopper.

He pulled open the door a little more and jumped down onto the mossy forest floor below, crusty leaves rustling underneath his boots. He pulled the hatch to and shivered in the cold night, a misty breeze rustling his fluffy, light-brown hair.  
The hairs stood on end on his bare, delicately muscled arms, and he shivered again, crunching his way forwards through the foliage of the forest floor.

He glanced nervously around him as the surrounding nocturnal sounds of insects and roosting birds disturbed the forest's silence.  
As he passed a single, thick-trunked sycamore tree, the crunch of his footsteps on the leaves startled a couple of crows, and they flapped suddenly from the branches above in a flurry of feathers and agitated cawing.

Brad yelped and spun away from the tree, stumbling and tripping on a root, scuffing his hands on the scratchy ground to try and break his fall.  
He felt his right knee scrape hard across something cold and sharp.

He stood up jerkily, picking up his torch and brushing himself off. He winced and looked down at his right leg, noticing a set of long rips across the knee.  
He shone the torch down and saw a thick dribble of deep red blood trickling over the rips, staining the camo material of his deep green combat trousers.

The gouge on his knee was fairly small but deep, and it stung much more than it's size should allow.

Brad felt his eyes glimmer with a tearful sheen. He blinked it back furiously, gritted his teeth and proceeded down through the forest, limping slightly.  
As he stumbled onwards, the chilly night air nipping and biting at the torn flesh of his knee, he noticed the noises around him seeming to cease a little.  
He slowed his pace and listened for a moment or so, but only the quiet whistle of the wind through the branches above could be heard.

Brad blinked heavily a few times and cracked his fingers in angst. He took a few more steps forward, his head swivelling round, surveying what he could make out through the bleak gloom.

A long, black shape shot past in the corner of his eye. He jumped, startled, clutched his small handgun to his chest tightly.  
His widened eyes darted around in front of him, seeing only thick trees and weeds, covered by a thin veil of mist. Again, a shape flitted by on his other side.  
He spun round, gun raised, his heart pounding hard in his ears.  
A low snarl rumbled from a way behind him. He turned his head gradually around, holding his breath. He could distinguish a canine shape in the distance, and a big one at that.  
It padded slowly nearer to him, ears pricked and alert.

It's eyes seemed to shine in the murky darkness with a bright, milky white colour. Patches of the dog's fur were missing, and Brad thought he could see the animal's ribs exposed on one side.  
As the dog hit a patch of dappled moonlight, he could see clearly that it's head was mostly blackened skull, the missing patches on it's back and sides a deep red, and glistening with blood. It ambled casually even closer, and Brad kept as still as death, not blinking, not breathing...

He was about to break and run for it when a set of gradually loudening crunches became audible nearby.  
The animal snarled and whipped it's head towards the noise, mouth opening in a fanged grimace. It slinked off to the side, out of Brad's field of vision. He let out his breath slowly in shuddering gasps, taking a few cautious steps backwards.

A deafening howl and a scream pierced the air, followed by several more yowls and a loud thud.  
Tortured male cries echoed through the trees, almost drowned out by a sickening ripping and munching sound.

Even so, Brad thought he recognized the screaming voice as a single, forceful gunshot split into the atmosphere.

_J...Joseph...?  
_

Brad's jaw dropped, and a pure, blind panic took over his mind. He felt no responsibility for his comrades in that impulsive moment, and he didn't even need to think about a course of action. He fell backwards and sprinted, fueled by pure fear, back towards the chopper site.  
He ran madly, bashing branches and overhanging leaves from in front of himself violently, whimpering and mewling breathlessly.

He reached the chopper very quickly, throwing open the hatch and slamming it to, hard. His hands fumbled clumsily for his piloting headwear on the passenger seat, which he crammed on carelessly.  
He started the ignition, missing the keyhole a few times with his uncontrollably shaking fingers, and set the machine to lift off, juddering impatiently as he urged the rotor blades to gather sufficient momentum to lift off.

The chopper rose upwards into the clear sky above, Brad's trembling arms steering it forwards shakily.  
As the machine sped off as fast as he could handle over the forest below, he stared straight ahead, his mind struggling not to think of the team-mates he just left behind.

Thinking back now, forty minutes into the flight back to central Raccoon City, he could believe what he'd done, as much as he didn't want to.  
He remembered how the bitter feeling of fear had befriended him once again, and that feeling had caused him to forsake the lives of his comrades.

He had acted on a purely selfish whim, the sheer panic of that moment had erased all remorse he could feel about abandoning them.  
His heart fluttered a familiar twisting pang of guilt, and a lonely, grief-ridden tear escaped the corner of his eye, sliding down his ashen face and leaving a salty trail over his trembling lip.

The chopper flew ever onwards, ever away from friends he left behind...


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

_**-**_

Chris stumbled a wavering path through the thick woods at the side of the sprawling mansion, limping badly and clutching at a deep scrape on his left shoulder.  
The once-pursuing dogs lay in mangled disarray a way away, powerful bullet wounds embedded in their decaying brains.

He'd had no choice but to fight the beasts when he realized there was nothing but forest and grass for miles around, and after leading them this far astray, there was nothing to do but defend himself and hope for the best.

It had started very badly.

The leader of the pack had barreled into him as he turned to face the oncoming hounds, sending him hurling to the floor underneath its snarling jaws. Two more had grabbed his right leg and savaged it hard, biting deep and ripping through the skin.  
Chris had cried out in agony, managing to kick out at the attacking dogs and send one of them flying into a nearby tree. He'd lashed out with the butt of his gun and beaten the leader off his chest, rolling over onto it and shooting it point blank in it's rotting face, pupiless eyes rolling and closing a final time. He dive rolled to the side and spun round to face the oncoming threat of the howling dogs.

He dodged another attempted dive, and booted the dog in the side as it lunged uselessly past, groaning with pain as the bite wound opened further.  
It yelped and hit the floor hard, its scrawny, deformed legs juddering in the air.

Chris aimed downwards and sent a bullet straight through it's left eye, the side of it's head exploding with blood and rotten tissue. He dealt with three of the remaining canines in much the same way, ducking and diving with natural agility from their pinpointed lunges and snapping bites, shooting repeatedly and with trained accuracy.

As he turned to aim at the last hound, he found himself aiming at a patch of grass and weeds. He'd frowned and twitched his head around warily, taking a few small steps forwards, finger poised on the trigger of his MK-70.

He felt the blow before his head registered what was happening.

The rabid dog hit him from the left, latching teeth and claws onto his shoulder and ripping through the thick material of his jacket, cleaving a deep scrape of skin clean away from it.

Chris screamed and, acting on a pure instinct, threw himself sideways towards the strong brick wall of the mansion beside them, crushing the hound between it and his strong, sleekly muscled frame. The dog uttered a hideous spluttering, gurgling noise from deep inside it's throat and fell to the floor, it's entire right side ruptured and weeping.

It gibbered uselessly, and Chris grunted heavily before stamping down his shiny, laced boot (with his uninjured leg) onto it's lolling skull. He drew a sharp breath and leaned wearily against the wall of the mansion, wincing down at his injured calf.

The material of his light green combat trousers was ripped almost all the way from knee to ankle, the exposed wound rimmed with black and leaking a deep scarlet.  
It was causing him a lot of pain, his motoring heartbeat almost seeming to be pumping blood directly from it, and he grimaced with every throb.

He tore a thick strip of material from the sleeve of his police-issue S.T.A.R.S shirt under his sleeveless jacket and wrapped it neatly around the gaping wound, the weeping sore staining the white material red in seconds.  
He tied it tightly, hoping it would suffice until he could find something more substantial.

And here he was now, ambling slowly and painfully forwards in the cold, misty night, his torn leg crying out with every other step.

_There has to be another way in... They'll have barricaded the front door, and there has to be at least one back door to this place..._

The tall outside wall stood imposingly in the dappled moonlight, rows of pale windows shimmering as short bursts of lightning began to flash, accompanied by low rolls of ominous thunder. Chris squinted up at the sky, noticing the barely visible grey-black clouds begin to creep in to the hardly lit sky.

_Oh Christ, it's going to piss it down on me, isn't it... Bloody hell, when you think things can't get any worse...  
_

Lightning lit up the sky again, illuminating the tall weeds and overhanging branches around him.

_And if this gets any worse, I don't want to be stood underneath trees when it starts forked lightning..._

#He sped up as fast as his injured leg would allow and limped onwards, spurred on by a new uneasiness.

After a little while, he reached the a corner in the mansion wall, and looked on to what he'd probably least liked to have seen: a graveyard.  
It was only small, ten gravestones at most, but with the horror of what he'd just faced combined with the seriousness of the situation, this wasn't a good omen. He limped on around the corner, keeping his eyes and ears peeled for any unwelcome company.

He passed the gravestones slightly warily and heaved himself awkwardly up the two short flights of stairs leading to a single, metal door with a long handle. He held his breath and pushed on the door gently. It clicked and swung slowly open before him.  
He stumbled sideways in through the door, pushing it shut with his back as he leaned gratefully against it.  
The warm air he was expecting from the interior didn't come; instead, a stale, unwelcoming draft encased him, an atmosphere which made him feel warily uneasy.

The hall lay before him, silent and lavishly formal, a carpeted set of stairs leading down to the bottom floor. Much of the hall's furniture lay crookedly against the main doors as a crude barricade. He limped forwards and surveyed the floor below, smiling a little to himself.

_They got inside okay... Thank God..._ "

Jill? Wesker, Barry?" He called uncertainly to the seemingly empty hall.

With no answer, he frowned and looked to either side of himself. There was numerous doors leading from the tops of the alternating stairwells, two singles on the left and a large set of doubles on the right.

He shrugged and started weakly up the right set of stairs, choosing to investigate this floor first, as the others were probably sweeping the ground floor. He paused half way up, grasping the banister tightly and gritting his teeth as his leg shrieked at him.  
He panted heavily and screwed up his eyes, letting out a low whine.

_Pull yourself together, you weak shit.  
_

He forced himself up the last steps and hobbled onwards towards the grand set of decorated double doors in front of him. He opened them and stepped inside, dragging his almost useless leg along behind him.  
An empty walkway confronted him, providing passage to two other doors on one side. It was a balcony of some kind, meeting in a full circle and allowing a view of the room below, which, Chris figured, was a dining room, due to the large table decorated with candles and antique dishes.

As he began to limp his way around to the sets of doors, a disconcerting noise from below caught his attention.

He approached the embossed wooden fencing encasing the walkway as quietly as possible and peered down to the floor below. In front of a large fireplace, engrained with regal looking embellishments and patterns, what seemed to be a mangled heap of tissue and flesh lay disgustingly against the clear, polished floor.

Bending over it, producing the vile crunching, tearing sounds, was a figure of some kind, who appeared to be..._feasting_...on the pile of matter.  
It made small, juddering movements as it ripped and chewed, and low moans emanated from it between bites. Chris was freeze-framed for a moment until he found some strength to force himself backwards out of possible sight. His head was spinning as he fell against the wall behind, and pumps of adrenaline stirred in his stomach uncomfortably;

_I-inside...but... Oh God, oh FUCK, it's not just those dogs outside that are coming after us...What in Christ's name are we going to do..? How are we going to get __**out**__ of here?  
_

His thoughts turned to the dismaying image of the S.T.A.R.S chopper weaving unsteadily past over their heads as Brad deserted them, and all his anger and frustration revisited him briefly, churning inside his chest and burning his eyes as he tried to push it away from his consciousness once again.  
When -_**if**_- they got out of here, Brad would pay for his disloyalty.

**Oh**, yes. _But right now, you gotta think about what the freakin' hell you're going to do..._

Trying to ignore, as much as possible, the grotesque guzzling which still emanated from below, Chris made his way along the wall, keeping out of sight of the ground floor, towards the two doors.  
The first he came to was a no-goer; it was either locked from the other side or broken entirely, it wasn't budging.  
The second was slightly rigid, but creaked open with a couple of hard shoulder barges, which didn't help the growing pain in Chris' savaged leg in the least. He fell through into a slightly green-tinged corridor, which was badly lit and musty-smelling.

He dragged himself round the sharp corner and was met with an oddly-placed barrier, which blocked the way to the rest of the corridor and the stairs which ran downwards beside it.  
Chris frowned deeply as he saw he must struggle all the way around it to reach the other side.

_Just my luck...Like someone planned this just to see me __**suffer**_...

Chris thought bitterly, dragging his weight around the pointless obstacle. As he reached the top of the stairs on the other side, after much strong cursing and numerous pauses to regain breath and revel in just how much pain his battered leg was causing him, a loud, hissing moan echoed upwards. Chris took a deep breath before slowly gazing downwards reservedly.  
A hunched, shadowed figure stood lopsidedly at the bottom of the stairs, it's almost luminous pupiless eyes staring up vacantly at him.

Chris felt his heart sink as he realized he really couldn't go on any further, it felt as though the wound was eating him from the inside, and his leg chose that moment to collapse from underneath him entirely.  
He cried out agonizingly as he fell forwards, his shoulder hitting the first few steps hard, his hands burning as they scraped along the rough wooden stairs. He stopped about halfway down, his screaming leg trapped underneath him in agony.

His vision was dazed and shimmering as he lifted his head weakly to see the creature below stumbling forwards, clambering clumsily up towards him, blackened hands reaching out hungrily.

The sheer hopelessness of the situation and the insane amount of pain he was suffering manifested themselves in an almost psychotic screech emanating from his very core, unintelligible words tumbling from his gaping mouth in streams as he tried pathetically to push his weakened, shuddering body away from the advancing monster, eyes screwed shut.

He was making so much noise that he didn't hear the gunshot.

A fairly weak gunshot, which was badly aimed, but a shot which saved his life.

When the tearing crunch he was expecting to rip into him didn't come, his shrieks slowed to burbling whimpers, his anxious, half-crazed eyes darting around for his assailant's whereabouts.  
He was met with a sideways view of the thing's bloodstained back as it lumbered away from him towards something unseen. Three more gunshots fired, jerking the monster backwards a little before it fell awkwardly forwards, allowing Chris a view of the gun's owner.

It took his panic-dazed mind a few moments to register the figure of a small woman, her thin, delicate arms outstretched, a standard issue handgun trained unsteadily on the fallen creature.  
Her almond eyes were wide and frightened underneath her cropped brown hair, and her knees trembled from inside her baggy, male-sized combat trousers. Chris murmured quietly, and uttered a name as he slipped into a half unconsciousness, the trauma not even being decent enough to allow him to pass out completely...

_R - Rebe..cca... _

The distorted vision of a grey, plaster-flaking ceiling met Chris's heavy eyes as they flickered wearily open.  
With consciousness also came the pain once again, and he groaned, trying to lift his head.  
Almost at once, a small, soft hand came down on his hot, sweat covered forehead and forced it gently back down onto the thin pillow beneath him.

"No, Chris, you have to rest now... You're running a fever and you're hurt pretty badly."

Chris turned his head to the side and saw the young, caring face of Rebecca Chambers, Bravo team's medic.  
She was a mere nineteen years of age, and had joined S.T.A.R.S right out of an early university graduation in science and medicine.  
Her remarkable intelligence was matched only by her compassion and the deepness of her love for her job and her team.  
He vaguely remembered being tugged and dragged through a door while he stumbled his legs pathetically along beside, and being tossed weakly onto a white blanketed surface below.

Chris' eyes flickered around the room, the shelves full of medicine bottles and white packets suggesting this was some kind of first aid room. He was rested somewhat lopsidedly on a low bed, which felt hard and bumpy underneath his aching back.

"I've treated and bandaged your leg as best as I can," spoke Rebecca kindly, "but you're going to need some time out to get over that nasty concussion..."  
Already Chris' mind was dimming again, and he had to force himself to keep his eyes open.

"Huh...uhh... Th - thanks..." he muttered, "So l - luck...y for me th ..at you were ther..e to..."  
he trailed off and winced as his leg wound bit into him again, although not as deep as he remembered.

Rebecca shook her head sadly and rose from the small armchair she had been sat in beside his bed, bending over him and peering at his bad leg.  
Chris raised his head as much as he could and saw half of a layered, bloodstained bandage covering most of his right leg, traces of a yellowish liquid also seeping through thickly.  
He sighed and flopped his head back onto the wafery pillow as Rebecca gently felt along the sides of the bandage.

"Hmm... I soaked some of the bandage in an antiseptic solution before I applied it, so that should help with the pain in time..."

She looked pityingly at him, brushing his cheek affectionately, "I know it hurts, Chris, but you'll be alright. I'll look after you."  
Chris smiled tiredly at her, and lifted his hand weakly. Rebecca took it, grasping the tough leather of his fingerless glove tightly, and he squeezed her hand with a hint of his former strength.

"Y - you really are a ... lifesaver ... W..hat state would I be in no...w if it weren't f - for you?"

She chuckled gently smiling warmly back at him,

"A very bad one, I think ..!" she coughed gently, "and not nearly as handsome, I wouldn't think," she added almost to herself, and Chris surveyed her with a gentle wariness.

She cocked her head to the side and giggled nervously, brushing a stray strand of fringe from in front of her eyes and blushing,

"Well, you'd be a lot worse off, let's just say that."

She turned quickly and moved off over to one of the many shelves of medication, hiding her face away from him. Chris raised his eyebrows and watched her sleepily as a weakly soothing tide seemed to flow in over the incessant nibbling of his bandaged leg.

In an almost new-found sense of clear-thinking, he began to consider the bigger picture here.  
He was injured, his head still half full of fog and his leg niggling at him like hungry parasite.

Where were the others?

He stared at the back of Rececca's light green bullet-proof jacket, mentally tracing the lines of the red first aid cross and medical insignia embroidered on the back. She was here on her own, he knew it.

If the others were alive, they'd found a good hiding spot. If not... then he and the other remaining had a lot to worry about.

His mind seemed torn; part of him, the strong, loyal, go-getter part of him, told him he had to stay and complete the mission at all costs.

Find the Bravo team, all of them, investigate the area; find clues and all that...

But the other part, the more reserved, quietly shy and nervous part, was screaming at him that he had to _**get out**_**, **sod everything, _everybody_ else, get the hell out while you still can.

The... the _Brad_ part of him...

But to where? That useless coward had abandoned them, the radios were playing up out here and it was miles to any other civilization.

_It had to be in the middle of the fucking mountains, didn't it. You are so, __**so**__ screwed.  
_

But not all of him believed it, and he knew there must be some other way to get out of here. But before he started thinking about such things, he knew he had to build up some strength, let himself recover as much as the circumstances would allow.

_And hope the others find you... Good God... Where has Chris Redfield gone? That brave, strong man you knew once... Is he ever going to return? _


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

**- **

Richard Aiken sat wearily against the wall of the upper main hall, his tired head bowed, arms resting on his scuffed knees.

His thoughts were jaded and misty after almost a whole day alone in this desolate, evil place, though his mind refused to cease it's projection of that first attack, which now seemed so long ago.

He let out a long, wavering breath of air and leaned his head back against the wall behind, opening his subdued blue eyes and gazing blankly at the ceiling.  
His custom build assault rifle lay battered beside him, it's once gleaming barrel now stained with blood, the butt and trigger still warm from his tight, sweaty grip.

Although he'd been confronted by a few of those decaying monsters, and of course those rabid mutts outside, he was mostly unharmed, to which he was ultimately grateful. He'd never been one to suffer pain well, and his weapons training and coveted assault rifle had protected him well. Although only primarily in charge of the communications side of the missions, Richard was quite a skilled marksman.

_Though I'm no Chris friggin' Redfield...  
_

The others tended to prefer traveling light, taking a smaller, less weighty weapon along, but Richard always carried his prized rifle, partly as a kind of superstitious mascot, and partly to feel a sense of pride in knowing he could protect the other Bravo team members if need be...

_Protect them... __**fantastic**__ job you did there..._

As they'd been flying over the Raccoon forest, sent by the R.P.D to investigate the odd murders which had been occurring around the mountain area, something had gone wrong with their transport helicopter.

It was impossible to say what exactly, all they'd heard was an almighty explosion from the rear of the vehicle, and the whole helicopter had surged forwards dangerously before reeling backwards and juddering violently.

Kevin had screeched a warning about a fuel tank rupture or something over the tremendous fiery whirring of the expiring helicopter, and a panic had ensued among the others before it began falling rapidly towards the ground.  
Rebecca was screaming shrilly beside him, clutching at his shirt, and he held her to him tightly as Kevin yelled about an emergency landing, and Captain Enrico Marini barked orders about 'staying calm' in his slightly accented authoritative tone.

Edward was the only one seeming to keep his cool, his steady, upright posture never faltering and his husky voice remaining relaxed and only slightly agitated. Edward's demeanor tended to remind Richard of Captain Wesker from Alpha team, with his icy personality and never-flustered way of dealing with dangerous situations.

Although there did seem to be something not quite right with Wesker, a hint of something almost malicious beating under the surface of him, and although a very capable leader, he emitted a sense of unease which unnerved Richard at times.

The helicopter hit the ground with a battering thud, the back engine belching black smoke, and spun three times until scraping to a halt on the weed-ridden floor of the forest.  
Silence hit them, and Rebecca slowly untucked herself from Richard's sleek arms, bleary eyes glancing quickly around the rest of the team. Everyone was stirring slowly, shaking their heads and detangling themselves from the loose cables and each other, low curses buzzing in the air. No-one seemed badly hurt.

Forest Speyer groaned and heaved himself from the floor, brushing himself down and flicking his shoulder-length black hair out of his face impatiently. He turned angrily to face Kevin in the cockpit, who sat dazed and unblinking, lip trembling.

"What the hell just happened!?" barked Forest loudly, grabbing Kevin's shoulder roughly and leaning in close,

"You're not telling me that was just an engine failure? Did you hear that blast out there?! It's like we were bloody hit by something!"  
Kevin stayed staring ahead out of the half shattered windscreen, his whole body rigid, but he teased his large earphones off slowly and let them drop onto his lap.

"I... I don't know what happened... Something blew back there, that's all I can say." Kevin spoke in a flat, lifeless tone, his eyes finally flickering downwards at the steaming control panel in front of him.  
Forest grunted and turned his back swiftly to face Enrico, who was assembling his gun with a serious expression.

"So? What's the plan?" He asked briskly. Forest was not one for formal speaking, his casual insolence getting him in trouble on a few occasions in the past. Enrico looked up at him and regarded him with disdain, his thin moustache bristling above a tight-lipped mouth.

"The plan is to get in contact with Alpha ASAP," said Enrico slowly, choosing to ignore Forest's disrespectful tone, "We need their reinforcement, and we're not gonna be getting out of here without Brad and their chopper."

Forest raised his eyebrows and snorted unkindly.

"Huh...That faggot...Aren't we _lucky_ to be relying on him..." Forest spoke quietly, but his tone could still be heard clearly. Enrico curled his lip in distaste.

"Not everyone's as hot-headed as you are. Brad is a good pilot, and you'd do well to be grateful that we have another way out of here."  
Forest shifted uncomfortably at Enrico's icy tone and fell quiet, turning away and hunching up back in his seat. Enrico narrowed his brown-black eyes at him before turning to Richard, who'd been observing awkwardly.

"Richard, we need you to get Alpha on the horn, get them to bring that chopper and pick us up. Then we can carry on the mission with backup. Okay?"

Richard sat up straight and nodded, smiling politely before rummaging in the telecom's case below his bench for the primary long wave radio back to the R.P.D. The others arranged their various belongings in the meantime, and Edward opened up the main hatch and exited, mumbling about getting some fresh air.

Kenneth Sullivan, who'd been merely sat in the background listening silently with an indifferent emotion set onto his dusky, steel face, also rose and exited through the hatch without a word, his lack of communication not surprising anyone.

Kenneth was the youngest in the team, aside from Rebecca, but with his youth did not come tenacity and eagerness. Instead, he was much of a loner, speaking in his monosyllabic voice only when required to and was often noticed to be staring off into the distance, ignoring those around him.  
He was a hard man to get close to, and so nobody raised any objection as he exited the crashed helicopter in his clunky gait. Richard keyed the contact code into the two-way radio and took a deep breath.

"Come in, Alpha, this is Bravo team. We are in need of reinforcement and transport. Our helicopter suffered an engine failure and we are currently stranded in Raccoon forest. Come in, Alpha. Over."

He could hear an immense crackling as various forms of interference was intercepted, but he could hear no voice on the other end. He frowned to himself, and fiddled with the transmitter frequency dial.

"Alpha team, this is Bravo. Can you hear me? We are in urgent need of reinforcement and transport. Please respond."

Again, a heavy static was there, but nothing else.

"Alpha team! Is anybody there? Can you hear me!?!"  
The others turned to look at him as he shouted agitatedly into the radio, his teeth gritted, his tone angry but desperate. He groaned and shut off the communication with a snap of his finger.

"It's no good, Sir, there's too much interference, I can't get a signal."

Enrico sighed heavily and pursed his lips in frustration. Richard felt the ache of responsibility begin to push on him, and he stood up, stooping so as not to catch the low ceiling with his height.

"I'll try again outside." He said simply, and exited the helicopter quickly, grasping the radio securely in his smooth fist.

The breeze that hit him was colder than he expected, and his bare arms tingled with goose bumps. His teeth chattered hollowly, and he did his best to stifle the shiver in his mild voice as he raised the radio to his mouth again.

"Alpha team!! Do you read me?! This is Bravo team. We urgently need your assistance! **Please** respond!!"  
The interference sounded less intense out here, but there was still no evidence of a voice over the incessant crackling.

"Please... Respond, Alpha team... Please, if you can hear me, we need your help... We've crash landed in them middle of the Raccoon forest and we need transport!"

He spoke almost dejectedly, while switching his gaze over to the side fleetingly, noticing the huge, black shape of a building looming in the distance. It was a long way off, partly obscured by the rows of thick trees, but nonetheless it was there.  
Richard's heart fluttered suddenly at the sight, and he continued on more excitedly,

"We're... we're near a... building of some sort, looks like some kind of mansion. My God, it's huge, you won't miss it! Please, come and get us as soon as you can. Bravo out."  
He clicked off the communication and spun back into the helicopter in a few swift movements.

"There's a building over there!" His excited tone startled everybody, and he was met with wide-eyed stares, "Looks like a factory or a mansion or something, maybe they can help us!"

Forest and Rebecca broke into relieved smiles, while Enrico's face remained stony as ever, and Kevin still stared straight ahead in a kind of melancholy sadness.  
Enrico approached and peered round the hatch, narrowing his eyes against the bleak horizon of trees. He nodded slightly, and returned his head inside, turning to the rest of the team.

"He's right, there's some sort of large building over in the distance there, it's in our best interests to go check it out. Assemble."

Rebecca and Forest looked at each other and scrambled for the hatch, Richard grabbing his assault rifle before following in haste, while Kevin was ever transfixed. Enrico approached him slowly and addressed him a little unsurely,

"Kevin? You're to stay here. Keep an eye on the supplies, and we'll return when we've scoped the area and found help. Right?"  
Kevin murmured his agreement and slid down a little in his seat, the skin of his face taught and pale, his misted eyes finally blinking twice.  
Enrico patted his shoulder and hopped down out of the hatch, where the others stood waiting.

He started to assign the course of action when he stopped and looked around curiously.

"W..Where's Edward?" The others glanced at each other and shrugged.

"Didn't he go for some fresh air?" offered Rebecca timidly, gazing around, "And Kenneth went too, didn't he?"

"**Edward**!!?"

Enrico shouted to the into the darkness of the lonely woods, and only the whistle of the wind replied. He began to call Kenneth's name too when a sudden cry and a gunshot cut him off, startling him.

Another shot followed, along with heavy thudding footsteps and lumbering cries.  
The team ran around the helicopter to towards the source of the noises, and could just see the heavily muscled form of Edward backing rapidly up towards them, and a light padding and rustling was audible between the gunshots.

To their infinite astonishment and dismay, Edward was leapt upon by a large dog, a blood-soaked, rotting corpse of a dog which single-handedly threw the immensely strong man to the floor like a bowling ball.  
More of them had followed, a pack of the things, leaping and snarling with hideous, gurgling roars.

And... what had happened then?

Pandemonium.

The team fell apart.

Screaming, weeping, running...

Richard's mind had blurred. He remembered that awful panic-streaked journey to the looming mansion, recalled how they broke apart from each other, falling off in different directions, all senses trained instinctively on the sanctuary of the mansion before them, their honor lying forgotten behind them.

And here he sat now, after many hours of wandering traumatized through the echoing halls of this draughty mansion, feeling the cold, unfriendly atmosphere slowly draining him. And those things had tried to get him... grabbed at him, clawed at him... and he'd murdered them.  
As he sat here now, exhausted, his weakened body cried out for food and sleep, things which now seemed an almost unobtainable luxury.

His eyes couldn't close without reliving all those dreadful moments again and again.

Unwilling to wallow in those thoughts any longer, he heaved himself wearily to his feet, dragging his heavy rifle into his arms once again, and began his wandering all over again.  
His radio lay forgotten against his belt, having long since given up on any contact with Alpha team. As much as it terrified him, part of him was already resigned to his death in this place.

_There's no-one coming... You're all alone. The others... they must be dead. You're alone, you're weak, and there's no escape... You came here, and now you'll die here, and you're all alone...  
_

He didn't know what it was that fueled him, but his legs obeyed his diminishing will and carried him onwards.  
After another blur of seemingly endless, half recognized rooms, he reached a door he didn't seem to recall. He tightened his uncomfortable grip on his trusted weapon and started clumsily up the small set of stairs leading to a battered-looking wooden door at the top.

Thick cobwebs ran over the door's surface, bunching in the corners and hanging in long, dusty strands from the ceiling around it. Richard brushed the dangling webs jerkily away from his face, sneezing twice as they tickled his cheeks and his nose.  
He hesitated before placing a trembling hand on the brass doorknob and twisting, peering round as the door squeaked open on rusty hinges.  
A vast room of grey met his stained vision, with yet more cobwebs hanging from almost everywhere in thick clusters.  
Many old trunks and suitcases lay dilapidated against the far wall, and dusty shelves lined the other walls, overflowing with junk.

An attic, Richard decided.

He crept further into the room, surveying the surrounding shelves and old piles of furniture. There was an awful stillness to the atmosphere, and Richard's breath came painfully hard and stale as he gasped at the air.

He was about to turn away and head back out when a thump and a long rustle stopped him dead.  
The ceiling above seemed to creak and groan, and his eyes flickered up towards a far corner, where the creaks seemed to be heading. A large, gouged hole was just visible, the wood splintered, revealing a passageway into the roof above.  
Another long rustle followed, and a low hissing noise emanated from within.

Richard tried to move his legs, but they seemed rooted to the spot by invisible anchors. After one final loud creaking, there was a movement from the hole. The terrible, hideous face of a gigantic snake appeared from within, followed by an immensely thick body, which slid thunderingly down the wall, a body which was at least 100 feet long.  
The colouring was a sickly, swampy green, with large red welts festering down its vast, writhing back.

It reared up with a terrifying hiss and bared a set of huge, dagger-sharp fangs, its deep yellow eyes narrow and void of pupils.  
Richard's eyes were bursting from their sockets, mouth gaping in terror, his mind not even registering the gun he held in his arms.

It was only then that he found the means to get his legs to move, tapping into an instinctual adrenaline surge, but he made a break for it a second too late.

The huge snake darted forwards, its terrible fangs bared, dripping with saliva and a thick, gooey substance, moving with a killer speed.  
Its right fang connected with a ripping sharpness to Richard's exposed upper left arm, tearing through the skin with a disgusting ripping noise, the gooey poison of the snake invading the open wound like a burrowing cancer.

The pain was white hot like a burning skewer, and Richard let out a strangled, gurgling cry as the blistering heat of the poison ate into the long, seeping gouge.  
The snake carried on past him in it's sweeping lunge, disappearing up into the rafters.  
This was all the chance Richard needed to fling himself out of the half-open door, battering it shut with his shaking back.  
His whole body slumped to one side with the agony of the boiling pain, and he gazed at the wound through tortured vision, a horrific purpling mess of mangled flesh and blood.

He clasped his rifle under his good arm and grasped the wound tightly in his shaking, black fingerless-gloved hand, staining his fingers red in seconds. He could hear the snake moving in the attic behind, and his panic instilled again, his legs wrenching him almost involuntarily forwards out of the door in front.

But his body was so weak as it was, and his whole side gave way as he hit the wall ahead, slumping in a sweat-covered, panting heap against it and sinking slowly to the floor.  
He'd not heard the door beside him close with a bang. He vaguely heard a strong female voice utter his name, but his traumatized mind dismissed it as imaginings.

There was no-one else here.

_You're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die...  
_

His pounding heartbeat spoke these words to him with every thump.  
He heard his name spoken again, louder, closer, and he turned his lolling head round towards the startled tone.  
He wanted to believe so much that he was seeing the sweet, worried face of Jill Valentine, but again, his greying mind wouldn't allow.

_You're gonna die..._

She bent down over him, her slender hands resting around him, supporting his falling weight.

He managed a short, heartfelt but still unbelieving smile up at her pale, concerned face before his mind greyed out completely and led him into the cold but grateful numbness of unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 6 _**

-

Jill felt sickened with horror as she knelt over the comatose body of Richard, the huge, gaping wound he still clutched at seeping yellowish pus and bruising his whole upper arm purple.  
She held a shaking hand a few inches above the gouge, feeling the unnaturally hot air rising from it, and she could see a white, milky substance glistening around and inside it.

Richard's whole body had slumped over almost entirely in his unconsciousness, and Jill struggled to keep him upright as she was dragged over along with him.  
He wasn't of a large build, but he was tall, and endowed with natural muscle, and although Jill wasn't weak by any means, she really wasn't strong enough to hold all of his weight up.

She let him slide to the floor, but tugged him backwards as best she could and propped him clumsily against the bleak beige wall of the corner.  
His head was set on his shoulder, his breath rising and falling comfortingly, but his pallor was very, very pale, with red tinges on his cheeks.

Though the wound felt so boiling hot, his skin was rapidly falling icy cold as Jill held his wrist gently, moving her fingers to attempt and create a little friction heat.  
A thin trickle of drool was slowly leaking from his parted, slightly-bluing lips, and Jill wiped it away with an affectionate, almost maternal sweep with the back of her glove.

_Richard... What the hell happened to you? This wound is huge, something... __**big**__... got him...  
_

She looked back down at the ugly wound, and at the thick, milky fluid which seemed to be invading it.

_I'm no doctor, but that stuff looks like... some kind of __**poison**__... But what the hell could have poisoned him that's that goddamn big!?  
_

As she looked on at him in a mute sadness tinged with pity, his gentle breaths became increasingly desperate and ragged, and his weak frame began to twitch and judder as he slipped into some kind of comatose seizure...

His eyes remained closed as shook violently, with Jill clutching at him in shock and dismay.  
She held him tightly, squeezing him and pressing him further against the wall, her widened eyes involuntarily leaking hot tears of frustration and helpless fear.

The spasms calmed after a moment or so, leaving Jill drained from strength and shaking herself. Richard's head was lolled over onto his chest, and a thin layer of foam had dripped from the corners of his mouth in short streams.  
His face had paled even more, leaving it with a greenish sickly tinge, his hand ever clasping his deadened arm with an unbreakable grip. As Jill slowly released him, standing shakily and backing away slightly, she knew only one thing;

_I have to get help. I don't __**need**__ to be a doctor to see that he's not going to make it if he stays here... But... what can I do!?_

She raised a clenched fist to her mouth and started nibbling at a hangnail on her thumb in anxiety. She could feel numerous flutters of a horrid powerlessness stirring shudderingly inside her, and she looked fleetingly away from Richard's pathetic, collapsed state, breathing rapidly and with urgency.  
Her mind searched desperately for an answer, and could come up with only one thing to rely upon...

_Barry...! __**Barry!**__ He can help me move him, get him somewhere safe, secure, he might even know how to help him..."  
_

It seemed like a very long shot, but with Richard's life hanging this precariously, she had no other choice, and she refused to just sit here and watch him slowly fade away...  
She took a last, brief look at Richard's poor slumped posture, checking for that reassuring rise and fall of his chest before spinning round and exiting the room hastily, closing the door securely behind her. She looked back at it worriedly as she moved back towards the main hall,

_I really hope he'll be okay in there... I couldn't hear anything through that other door, but... something out there hurt him that badly, and I feel so a__**wful**__ just leaving him alone...  
_

She shrugged away her reservations and hurried onwards,

_If you don't get a move on, there'll be nothing left of him to worry __**about...**__! _

Barry had said he was checking out the other side of the mansion, so God knew where he could have gotten by now...  
Jill saw a pair of large double doors on the opposite side of the balcony, and she decided to start there, assuming he'd have made his way upstairs by now...

_If he's still able to make it upstairs...  
_

No, of course he was. Barry was one of the strongest in the team, always the rock, he and his coveted magnum revolver could take down anything.

_Even so, Christ knows what else could be lurking in this hellhole..._

Jill hurried on over to the double doors and barged through, taking in little of the new balcony that confronted her within.  
She saw two other doors on the opposite side, and hurried straight over without barely a pause.  
After hurriedly trying the first door and failing to open it, she battered through the second, rushing round the bleak hallway and almost running straight into the wooden fence in front, separating the two parts of the hall, and running next to a staircase leading downwards.

Jill cursed to herself and stomped round the staircase to reach the other side, muttering annoyed to herself. She had paused for a moment, deciding whether to rush ahead or head down the stairs, when she thought she heard the muffled buzz of voices...

She frowned and moved closer to the stairs, listening hard and muting her heavy, tired breaths.

_That is definitely voices...  
_

Oh God, they can help me, they'll help me... Richard, you're gonna be okay! Just hold on...hold on...  
She started enthusiastically down the stairs, taking then two at a time before she stopped mid-stride about three-quarters of the way down.

The mangled corpse of a humanoid figure lay sprawled on it's front at the foot of the stairs, it's deathly white and cracked skull twisted to the side, it's black teeth and gums visible in it's lipless mouth. There were several holes visible in the wall to the side as Jill gazed around the site in shock, and the bullet holes had ruptures almost through the creatures back, leaving small pockmarks through it's tattered white shirt.

_Jesus... how many of these things are there...  
_

The drones of voices were louder now, and Jill could distinguish mostly a high, slightly squeaky female voice and the occasional lower tone of a male.  
Jill glanced around the corner and saw a small door underneath the stairs, where the voices seemed to be emanating from.  
She rushed over and pushed the door open slowly. Two figures looked up, startled, as she poked her head round warily. Her heart rose in her chest like a wild bird escaping from a caged prison.

"**Chris!?! Rebecca**!!!"

She could hardly believe the sight she was presented with, Chris beaming at her with such genuine glee in his gentle but tired face, half sitting up on a low bed, one leg stretched out straight in front of him, bound in a tight, slightly stained bandage. Rebecca had turned round in her chair next to the bed, and had clasped her hands together in disbelief, eyes wide with happiness.

"Oh my _God_!"

Jill rushed over to where Chris sat, arm resting on his good, upturned leg, and threw her arms around his neck, her soft cheek brushing against his slightly rough jaw and breathing in his scent of leather and fading aftershave. He closed his strong, yet careful arms around her, holding her close and rubbing her back softly as she began to weep a little into the soft crook next to his collarbone, her cries light and airy.

Rebecca looked on sadly, with an embarrassing envy bubbling to the surface.

She envied the way Jill had fallen on him, and how he'd accepted her, holding her so close...  
She sighed and slid down in the chair dejectedly, her eyes flickering to the floor and back.  
Chris gently teased Jill off after she'd had a moment, and he looked deep into her tear-blotched face, his hands on her shoulders as she began to gasp short words at him in a fluster.

"Chris... It's... I found Richard, but he's... We gotta help him... he's.... uhh..."

Chris' mouth parted in surprise, and he looked up at Rebecca, who's expression had changed to a shocked but hopeful elation. Jill stumbled over her words, and Chris held her steady with a tight grip.

"Jill. Where is he? What happened to him?" asked Chris in a forcibly calm voice.

"He... he's... upstairs, and... oh God, he's hurt... so badly! He got poisoned or something, by God knows what, but... it's huge! He's going to die, I know it... we have to get there now!" She reeled away from Chris' grasp and leaned into Rebecca's pretty teenage face, slight flecks of spit striking her cheeks and forehead as she spoke;

"Rebecca! Isn't there something you can do?! It's poison, I saw it, it has to be! Please tell me you can do something! Please!?"  
Chris leaned forwards too quickly, and winced in pain as he grabbed Jill's wrist and hauled her backwards, her weight flopping with a thump onto the bed as she sat abruptly.

"Hey, hey. Just calm down now, Jill. Rebecca?"

Rebecca fidgeted and stood up, gazing sideways at Jill a little anxiously. She turned to one of the many shelves full of medicine and traced along it, concentrating hard to read the small, typed print of the labels.  
She paused and picked up a slender bottle, which had a thin nozzle attached to the top for administration. She read the print more closely before turning to back to the others, waving it in the air.

"This should do it. It's a kind of serum which counteracts most kinds of moderate to severe poisoning, including insects, some plant types and snakes.

Jill leapt from the bed and snatched the bottle from Rebecca's weak grip, squinting at the long lines of text splayed across the label like little black ants.  
Rebecca recoiled and rubbed at her wrist, her gaze hurt and downcast as Jill thrust it back at her and turned back to Chris excitedly.

"That might just work..! Come on, we have to..." Jill frowned slightly as she saw the bandage on Chris' right leg, as if she'd just seen it for the first time, "...What happened to your leg!?" Chris sighed and moved it gingerly, the pain on his face evident as he did so.

"Those frikkin' dogs outside did it... Bastard things... Tore a chunk right out of me..." Jill's wild expression softened in sympathy, and she moved closer, sitting and running her hand along the stiffly bandaged limb tenderly, Chris flinching as her light fingers brushed along it. Rebecca coughed lightly, breaking her humiliated silence.

"Hey, if Richard's in trouble, then shouldn't we...?" Jill looked up at her in agreement, before turning back to Chris, his face set in bravery, gulping dryly.

"Can you get up?" She asked softly, tilting her head to the side in concern.

Chris took a deep breath and sat up fully, swinging his leg out carefully and resting it lightly on the ground next to the bed. He put on as much pressure as he dared before shaking his head defeatedly and turning away in shame, letting his leg dangle precariously.  
Jill nodded solemnly and steadily hoisted his battered leg back up, hooking her arms round him again briefly before standing up

"We'll go..." She whispered, and turned towards the door, glancing back at Rebecca.

"Come on. I don't know how much time he has left..." It had been at least twenty-five minutes since she left Richard alone in that room, and she really didn't fancy his chances much longer...

Rebecca nodded mutely and emotionlessly, grabbing an empty syringe and pocketing it as she followed after Jill. They exited with a last glance at Chris, his face turned to the wall in a kind of personal disgrace, so disappointed with himself for being so damn w_eak_ when they needed him... Rebecca observed his back with a deep sadness as she left, watching his side rise and fall too fast with pained breaths.

"We'll be back soon, Chris. We'll bring Richard, and everything'll be alright." As quiet as her words were, Chris seemed to settle a little, breathing deeper and relaxing just a smidgeon against his uncomfortable invalid's bed. She added two more words, just to herself, just for her own mind to hear one more time;

_Love you..._

Jill led the way back through the halls back towards the small room where she'd left Richard, Rebecca following meekly behind at a distance. She'd always got on with all the S.T.A.R.S members, but Jill had scared her in the drug room.  
She couldn't recall her being that uptight and _scary_ before, the way she'd shouted in her face so desperately, snatched the bottle...  
It was like she was becoming a different person within this hellish mansion, like it was distorting her, twisting her in a way...

And, of course, she saw Jill always as a rival... a rival for Chris' heart.

Since her first days on the team, when she'd seen Chris for the first time on a training exercise, she'd been inextricably drawn to him like a magnet. His bravery, his skill, his humour... everything shone from him like a beacon of light, and she was hooked.

But she was incredibly timid as a person, and in truth, hadn't actually spoken to him that much until today...When she'd felt a kind of... _power_ over him... He'd been so weak, he'd _needed _her...

When she'd dragged him through to the drug room, his feebly lolling arm hooked around her slender neck as she held him as upright as she could, she'd felt so valuable, so intensely needed...  
They'd stumbled along together, she'd got him safe, rested, treated... And alone.

He'd looked so vulnerable laying there, and she'd felt she could protect him, care for him... And Jill had come. And when she did, Rebecca had stood forgotten.

They reached Richard's hallway quickly, Jill almost running most of the way, and Rebecca found it a job keeping up. As they entered the room, Rebecca understood what Jill had been talking about... He was slumped in the corner, his long legs stuck out at odd angles, and his condition looked... _severe.  
_

His left arm was swollen a bright reddish-purple, blood had seeped down his forearm and into a small puddle on the dirty grey carpet below. His fingers were wrapped around the wound tightly, stained a blackened red.  
They both rushed over in haste, kneeling beside him, Rebecca gently lifting his other arm at the wrist and placing her other hand on his freezing, but still soft neck, pressing up below his pronounced jaw for the glandular pulse...

"It's very weak, but he's still there..." said Rebecca, relieved.

Jill let out a long sigh of relief, holding his arm and peering at his sickly face underneath his blonde sweat-slicked, spiked-up fringe. Rebecca reached for the serum she'd brought and unscrewed the nozzle with a little difficulty.  
She poured the yellow-green liquid into the syringe, taking care not to spill any on the carpet, and replaced the cap. She took a deep breath and looked up at Jill's anxious face.

"You know... This may not work. He could be too far gone for the serum to -"

"- Just give it to him." Jill interrupted darkly, fixing her with a level gaze.

Rebecca lowered her head feebly and held Richards arm in the light, peering at the white, ashen skin to locate the slightly raised light blue veins. She eased the syringe through the taut flesh and into his cold bloodstream, pumping the serum into his dilapidated and dying body.  
She emptied the syringe and removed it with care, laying it down on the floor. Jill increased her grip on his limp arm, giving it little encouraging shakes. Rebecca looked up uncertainly.

"He needs time. If he has it, that is..." Jill flashed another cold look. Rebecca held up her hands in honesty. "We'll have to wait and see."

It was half an hour after the serum had been administered that Richard finally stirred. The wait had been unbearable, his pulse flailing and even dying a few times, prompting Jill's panic and hysteria again. Rebecca kept a solemn face throughout, keeping a check on his pulse, but reserved to the fact that is was unlikely that he was ever going to wake up...

He'd murmured something unintelligible before his eyes flickered weakly, sucking helpless air into his dry and cracked throat.

Jill had clutched and wept at him as his eyes opened fully, blinking feebly at the dim light, the blue of his eyes dark and almost black.  
He'd loosened his iron grip on his torn arm involuntarily, and his yowl had been almost deafening.

He'd screamed and burbled in a high, confused tone as Jill had rocked and comforted him, and Rebecca had looked on again in a lonely sadness.  
As his screams became weak whimpers, Jill explained tenderly what had happened, and he had listened with glimmering tears of remembrance and pain in his recovering eyes.

Jill coaxed him to him feet shakily, supporting his right side while Rebecca meekly took the left, only able to reach his waist and armpit to support.  
And, with a combined difficulty and Richard's whines rending their hearts, they began the trek back to the medicine room, back where Chris laid waiting.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

-

Brad began to see the homely, welcoming lights of Raccoon City twinkling below him as he guided the lonely chopper ever forwards.  
The dark, depressing forest had long since disappeared from underneath him, replaced by long fields and the hardly distinguishable far suburbs of the city.

He'd calmed down a lot towards the end of the hour-or-so long flight, and his tarred mind was starting to put the events in perspective. His hazel eyes narrowed against the inky horizon ahead, as the first of the large, notable buildings in the city came into view.

_So I left them... Sure. You can't make excuses for yourself; you abandoned them. They'll never forgive you for this, be very sure of that...  
But if I'd have stayed? What if I __**had**__ gone with Chris and the others out there? It's not like I'd have been much of an asset to the team; Can't fire a gun straight to save my life,  
- _He smirked coyly at the irony of that figure of speech here -  
_I'm dreadful at thinking on my feet and I panic real easy... REAL easy... _Brad sighed deeply,  
_No... They were much better off without you. You'd only have held them back, just something else to worry about, something to __**look after**__..._

In a way, this reasoning eased some of the still-aching guilt in his chest. Slightly. But, still, this didn't excuse him from running away, for abandoning his duty. Yes, he wouldn't have been much help on the field, more of a _hinderance_, but still...

_What if you'd stayed in the chopper and not freakin' budged your skinny ass? You were the backup, the way out, the dependance. They'd have come running back, and they'd all be sat around you now, safe, alive...  
_

Chris would probably be pointing out how badly Brad would have shat himself if he **had **ventured out with them, and they'd have laughed...

Chris... Just thinking about how angry and disappointed Chris would be with him for this made Brad cringe...  
He could imagine the rage on Chris' well-defined features as he screamed after the departing chopper, looking up and knowing Brad had... well, chickened out.  
It wasn't like him and Chris were enemies or anything; Chris was friendly to everyone, but he had a bad habit on joining in with the other arseholes back at the R.P.D in taunting him.  
Not like it was difficult to, Brad knew he was about as hard as a melting easter egg, and it's stupidly easy to get to someone who doesn't know _how_ to stick up for themselves...

_Give me a bust computer system, I'll reprogram it for you. Give me a ridiculously complicated hunk of flying metal and I'll pilot it for you. But give me a bunch of beefed-up guys with shit for brains laughing in my face...And I'll hunch up in my own little ball and wallow. Guess it's the way of things. _

Raccoon City was in full view now, and Brad lowered the chopper's altitude as he vaguely made out the grand and official looking shape of the Raccoon Police Department in the city centre, surrounded by apartments and shopping districts. Strong seeds of doubt had made themselves known for a while now;

_The chief is going to be very surprised to see me returning alone after only two hours or so... And he's going to be goddamn furious when he finds out __**why**__ I'm alone. My God, I'm in for it...  
_

Brad took a long breath as he lowered the chopper's altitude even more, circling expertly round to the back of the R.P.D, searching in the gloom for the cats-eye lit helipad on the roof.  
He brought her down gently, touching the cold, grey concrete with only a slight bump.

He switched off the ignition key with a clammy hand, and he merely sat for a time, head bowed and breathing evenly.  
The rotor blades took a minute or so to calm their violent whirring, and as they finally slowed to a creaking halt, Brad was composed enough to rise from his slightly imprinted leather seat, removing his warm headgear and tucking it under his arm.

He remembered to duck as he exited onto the helipad, recalling previous times his height had caused him to take a painful blow from the steel-enforced roof.  
As he hopped down lightly onto the helipad, that same icy breeze hit his already cold skin, and he shivered impulsively, looking into the cloudy, starless sky. A thin mist seemed to be blanketing the city, like something malicious being forced upon it.

He stopped mid step as he began towards the metal door leading inside, tutting at himself and jumping back into the chopper to grab the ignition key. It wasn't likely to be stolen or anything; No-one but him around here knew how to fly it.  
Well, him and Kevin Dooley from Bravo, but... anyhow, it felt safer to take it with him to be sure.

He hopped down again, beginning to notice that gouge wound on his knee again as the force shook into it. He'd forgotten about it; the sting had receded to just a niggle, but it seemed to be flaring up again as anxiety began to creep into his mind.  
He blinked hard, and started as determinedly as he could muster towards the single bluish-metal door, leading away from the freezing exposure of the night.

The door led to a narrow, blue-tinted corridor, one of many connecting the many rooms of this huge structure. The R.P.D was an incredibly old building, constructed in the 1700's, when the city was still in a fledgling state. It was of grand design, with detailed decoration and expensive structure present throughout.  
Although the station had modernized for the 20th century, many of it's original furnishings and doors were still very much a part of it's overall look.

Brad saw no-one else on his way down to the chief's office; it was going on eleven PM by this stage, and everyone who was still here were tucked away in offices or the dorm. He felt the strong silence of the halls pressing onto him as he progressed, and a very strong conscience of being alone struck him, making him gradually more nervous than he already was.

_Well, screw you, think how the rest of your team feels right now... _

The chief of police was always in late these days, locking himself away in that creepy office surrounded by all the animals...  
Brad felt no anticipation to get there in a hurry; that office unsettled him every time he was called there, usually to be grilled for failing a section of the combat training or complained at for his lack of "team spirit"...

He clicked open the door leading to the halls outside the office cautiously, and started very uneasily past the rows of glass cases containing various taxidermied animals, all frozen in oddly realistic poses. He eyed the large tiger especially carefully, glancing from it's vicious, bared fangs to it's unsheathed claws gripping the base of it's wooden base.

He could almost see the decaying face of that mongrel hound behind the tiger's, and his heart actually fluttered for a second as the tiger seemed ready to pounce from it's base and savage him where he stood. He shook away his reservations and held his pilot's head wear closer to his side as he made his way around to the main door of the office.  
He took a deep breath, closing his twitchy eyes, and rapped on the door three times as loudly as he dared.  
There was silence for a moment, before a deep, unfriendly voice emanated from within;

"Yes, what is it?"

Brad hunched his shoulders and nudged the door open sullenly, the nervousness clear on his face as he crept inside.

The office was of very old-fashioned decor, the carpet a rich brown colour with complicated swirls patterning it.  
More cases of taxidermy lined the walls here, predominantly with birds and deer preserved inside them. Elegant plasterwork graced the tops of the walls where the ceiling started, depicting chubby cherubs, greek-styled scholars and musing lion heads.

He looked over to meet the chief's gaze, who was slumped behind his desk, thick arms propping up his remarkably small head as he looked over, frowning, papers spread out untidily in front of him.

Brian Irons was known to be an able and organized chief of the R.P.D, but he also possessed a fierce personality, and his tendency to be rude and unforgiving were accepted as the norm around here. He often made new recruits pretty uncomfortable during their rookie period, which had included Brad himself when he was first hired for the S.T.A.R.S unit, which was a good long while ago now.  
His induction had been steeped in indirect threats regarding behavior and personal discipline, and basically telling him that if he didn't perform, he'd be out on his ass.  
Brad stood awkwardly in the doorway as Irons glared over at him, his grey, beady little eyes surveying him evenly, but with disdain.

"Vickers... What in God's name are you doing back so soon, you've barely left!?"

His voice was thick with a suppressed suspicion, and his frown was deep as he went on almost accusingly,

"You're meant to be locating Bravo and aiding them in their investigation, aren't you? You're not telling me that -"

Brad shifted his feet uncomfortably and cleared his throat noisily. Irons narrowed his eyes and rose from behind the desk, approaching him menacingly. Stood up, Irons didn't top 5'5ft, and Brad was a little way over 6'ft, but he still shrunk away as Irons advanced upon him, his eyes as dark as those of his evil-looking tiger outside, only much more deadly...

"What have you done this time, Vickers?" Irons hissed in a low tone, staring up at him in anger, "You're looking a bit too shifty for my liking. You landed everyone in the shit again?" He stopped and shifted his head to the side in ponderance, "Where _are_ the others?? _You're_ never one to report, no matter how long you've been gone. I want you to get Wesker and Redfield here, pronto."

Brad fiddled with the strap of his helmet, his frame still shrunken backwards against the chief's fiery tone.

"Ehh...Well, um... Everyone else is, kinda... They're not .. here .." His voice came out croaky and high, and he winced as Irons visibly bristled before him.

"_Not here_!?! What the hell are you talking about!!?"

Brad raised a hand to his head and sighed. He swallowed dryly as he tried to find the words to justify to the chief the unforgivable thing he had done.  
He didn't need to. Irons mouth curled in a sneer, and he took a couple of steps backwards, raising a podgy finger to point at Brad's cowering figure.

"You...you left them, didn't you? They're still all out there, aren't they?" Iron's flat voice was unsettlingly low and ominous,  
"You ran into trouble, and _you_ ran away like the _cowardly freak you always were_, **didn't you...!?!"  
**

Irons was yelling by the end of his statement, stumpy hands balled into fists, face screwed up with rage. Brad's chest swelled with the guilt once again, hearing those words from another hurt so much more than his mind's familiar voice squealing it at him. He gazed at the floor, humiliated and downtrodden, and mumbled a few pathetic words;

"I... I _couldn't_ stay..."

Irons barked an unpleasant, guttural laugh, and turned his back harshly, sitting back in his leather-padded chair with a thump. He looked up, teeth gritted and nostrils flaring.

"I _knew_ you'd do something like this one day, Vickers... I knew right from when you joined that you didn't have it in you to be a successful member of S.T.A.R.S. You need determination, bravery, honor... Things I _knew_ **you** didn't possess. Could tell _that_ a mile away."

Iron's voice was dangerous now, very painfully spaced out and menacing. Quite contrary to what his heart felt, Brad's mind protested to Iron's allegations, and he unwisely spoke up on an agitated whim.

"Hey, look, I'll be the first to admit I'm not _all that_ heroic, but I've done my goddamn best for this team. I run them around in that great lumbering piece of crap when they snap their fingers, I stay up until godforsaken hours fixing all the data systems they screw up on a daily basis, I make sure they know _every last thing_ they need to about whatever pointless case they get hurled at them next...  
Who else would be gullible enough to do all of that for the meager thanks they receive?"

Irons was glaring at him with a seething venom, hands gripping the edge of the desk so tightly it might snap. Brad's big, oval eyes glared back, his pockmarked face set in angered disagreement. But as soon as the chief slowly stood up a second time, fleshy face burning like thunder, Brad knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

He was surprised at _himself_; he'd never spoken up like that to a superior, ever.  
He'd never dared.

But what Irons had said had seemed so unfair that it was like his voice was on auto-pilot, speaking for itself. All anger drained, leaving his face rigid and defenseless as Irons' exploded.

"**You insolent little prick!! How **_**dare**_** you answer back to me like that!?! If I say you're a cowardly shit, then that's precisely what you are!! If you ever even **_**think**_** about backchatting me like that again, you'll be out of here before you can even blink. **_**Got it!? **_

Any courage Brad thought he'd built up drained away as quickly as it had formed, and he stood cowering under the chief's wrath. He felt ashamed of thinking he could speak up for himself before such a fearsome man, he'd felt like a field mouse staring into the mouth of a lion.

Irons exhaled gradually before lowering into his seat once more.

"Now...," he continued in a slightly calmer tone, "I suggest you get out of here, think up a plan of action and get your scrawny arse back out there and get them! I don't know what kind of trouble you got yourselves in, and, frankly, I don't really _want_ to know, but they're your responsibility, and you _will_ go and fetch them.

"But, sir ...-"

"_I don't want to hear it, Vickers_! You're lucky that you're still stood there in one piece. And I don't want to see you here again without the other S.T.A.R.S members, savvy?"  
He dismissed him with a careless wave of his hand, spinning in his chair to face the wall behind "Now get out of my sight."

Brad didn't need to be told twice; he turned tail and fled from the doorway, pushing the door shut, hard. He paced a few steps before turning and leaning his back against the rich wallpaper, hanging his tired head forwards and calming himself as much as he could.

_Jeez... Could that have gone any worse? Well, yeah... Be grateful he didn't bloody fire you.  
_

He sauntered wearily away from the chief's office and through the desolate halls of the R.P.D towards the S.T.A.R.S office, barely needing to look where he was going.  
He did pass a couple of officers on night duty, and though he got cheery waves as they passed by, he could hear the sniggers as soon as they got around the corner. He didn't need to guess what they were saying; he'd heard it all before.

As he reached the S.T.A.R.S office, he took out the master key to unlock it from his tight back pocket and let himself in. It was eerily quiet inside, the normally bustling office draughty and empty. He dumped his helmet and earphones next to the door, stretching and cricking his aching neck.  
There was a set of small personal lockers in the far corner, and he took out another small key and opened up his, the one in the top left.

The thin label read: _**Vickers, Bradley A.J.  
**_

His top lip curled a little at his full name, but was just thankful it didn't spell out the entire thing.  
Inside, there was his brown leather wallet and chunky cell phone, which they weren't permitted to take on missions with them, a series of pocket-size self help books on confidence and personal development, and a slim, half-full bottle of spring water squashed in at the back.

He eased the bottle out with a tug and unscrewed the loose cap, draining it in one go. He tossed it back inside carelessly, hesitating a little before picking up his cell phone, tucking it inside the side pocket of his yellow gelait.

_Maybe one of them took their phone with them? Unlikely, I guess, but they get away with a lot of stuff they ain't supposed to these days. Worth a try.  
_

He glanced around the office at all the empty desks, resting his eyes on Chris' over near huge S.T.A.R.S flag hanging grandly behind Wesker's. It was pretty untidy; Chris wasn't really that neat a person, and he could often be heard moaning about misplacing important documents and faxes.  
Next to a stained coffee mug and a pile of scruffy post-it notes, there was a silver-gilded picture frame, with a smiling female face enshrined within. Her mid-brown hair was tied back, and her face was light and pretty underneath her thick, center-parted fringe, long sides covering her ears.

Brad had never heard Chris talk about a girlfriend, but he had mentioned a sister before.

_Cassie? Cara... No, Claire. That was it.  
_

He hadn't really noticed it before today, he wasn't one for nosing around other people's things, and he figured that this must be Chris' sister.  
He wandered over and stooped over the photograph, squinting at it.  
He was a little long-sighted, and he had to give his eyes time to adjust if the object was too close.

She did look a little like him, her jaw was as delicately defined and her eyes were as gentle, though hers were a cornflower blue, while Chris' were quite a striking mossy green.  
She looked so happy, though she was on her own in the photograph,

_Chris really must care about her a lot to have such a nice picture of her here...I'm just so glad she can't see what a mess he must be in by now... But, there has to still be hope, right? If anyone could survive out there, it'd be Chris.  
_

He shook his head at himself,

_What the hell are you doing? Get in contact with them! Find out for sure...  
_

He approached the central intelligence device which ran along the other wall, seating himself and placing the smaller-fitting headphones over his rounded, slightly protruding ears.  
He connected the line up to his issued cell phone, and keyed in the numbers of his companions in turn. Most of the phones he called buzzed loudly from the lockers beside him, and a couple were non responsive entirely, either lost or turned off.

Brad sighed frustratedly, considering the other options. The only link between the team and the R.P.D had been Richard Aiken;_ he_ was the guy with the radios...

But that communication had gone down, which is why Alpha were sent in in the first place... Chris also tended to pull double duty as a radioman for Alpha when they needed to, but recently he'd only been taking the shortwave radio for use in the transport chopper between them and the pilot.  
Brad tried it anyway, but was met only with a deep silence as the call wasn't connected.

_He's left it here, hasn't he...  
_

He saw no choice now but to futilely try Richard's frequency, as he had done numerous times when Alpha were trying to contact Bravo, when all this kicked off... The interference was as strong as ever, with a hideous crackling buzzing over the top, but Brad spoke his message regardless;

"Bravo team? This is Brad. Can any of you hear me? Richard? Somebody, come in. Anybody. Come on... Tell me that you're okay...?" Nothing replied.

He felt quite sure that his plea has fallen on deaf ears there, but anything was worth a shot at this stage. He tugged the headphones off and fingered a straying lock of shiny hair, smoothing it and sweeping it backwards. He folded his arms, sighing, and re-evaluated his options.

_Hmm... I guess... Yeah... If I can find Chris' radio, and program that up to Richard's frequency, maybe I'll have a clearer line? It could be just the information server that'_s _picking up the heavy static...?  
_

He scurried over to Chris' desk area, and pulled out the three drawers underneath.

The top two were full of newspapers, old chocolate wrappers and stationary bits of junk, but tucked at the back of the bottom drawer was the bulky longwave radio, half covered by a few crumpled up scraps of coffee-stained tissue.  
Brad pulled it out with a curled lip, holding it's slightly sticky surface gingerly and flicking on the power switch at the side. He keyed in the frequency from memory, and started up the communication a little nervously

"A..Alpha team? Bravo Team? Is anyone there?" Gratefully, he could hear a lot less static than previous attempts, but there was still an annoying background interference.

"Can anybody hear me? This is Brad. If there's anyone there, please answer, let me know you're okay...?" There was no audible reply, but the lack of the usual static told Brad that his messages could actually be getting through this time.

"Look, I don't know if you can answer me or not, I really don't know if you can even hear me... But it's Brad, and I need to know if you're okay... I..." He swallowed suddenly and painfully, a lump forming in his throat, "I'm so, so sorry that I left you... I know you'll never forget what I did, and I don't expect to be forgiven, but I... I had to..." He straightened his posture, suddenly determined and eager,

"I'll put right what I did, I promise. I'm coming to get you. To get you all. Hang tight, guys. Just hang tight..." He cut off the transmission, his mind resolute and unwavering as to his next move...

_You're not gonna wimp out again, chickenheart, you'll do your duty and complete your mission. They're still depending on you. And you've gotta live up to what you __**know**__ you can do..._

He paced urgently for the door, pocketing the radio and grabbing his headgear from the floor, remembering to close up his locker and shut down the intelligence server before he left.

His journey back to the chopper was short and single-minded; he felt a kind of inspired enthusiasm building in his chest as he clambered back into his pilot seat, fastening himself in and securing his helmet and earphones.

Perhaps he could redeem himself...

They'd still all hate him forever, but maybe this way he could save what little personal honor he had left after all this time...  
He started the ignition with his key and waited for the chopper to gather enough momentum to take off.  
His hands clutched at the levers securely, his long fingers wrapped tightly around them with new drive.

And, in pursuit of that dwindling honor, and the lives of his companions, he urged the chopper onwards and upwards, back towards that forest from which he fled.


	8. Chapter 8

Richard struggled wearily through the corridors leading back to the mansion's medicine room, aided diligently but tiredly by Jill and Rebecca on either side. The tattered strips of flesh which now made up his upper left arm were blazing, and he stumbled along lopsidedly as pain seemed to half-cripple his left side.

He remembered very little about what had happened just after he collapsed against that wall, his mind had spiraled into a comatose stupor, indispersed with fleeting flashes of things he could hardly distinguish.

Faces of people he half-recognized, bland colours and patterns forming and unforming in juddering succession, the brown, papery wings of an Atlas moth fluttering crazily, re-awakening his desperately suppressed phobia... But then pain had invaded these half-delusions, ripping them in two and hurling him, almost unwilling, back into that world that hurt so badly.

He'd been aware he was awake now, barely, and his dry lips had parted nearly involuntarily, attempting to utter the last image his torn mind had created;

_Moth...Big moth coming... _

His words had translated as a mindless whine, and he forced his heavy and aching eyes open, feeling his feeble strength flagging even as he lifted his head. His right hand, which had been clutching his shredded upper left arm with an iron grip, suddenly loosened of it's own accord, and the searing, acidic agony flared up almost instantly.

He'd screamed like he never had before, a real lamenting scream from his very core, the kind that a dying man never has the strength to utter...

He'd then vaguely noticed a set of enclosing arms caging around him, squeezing him inwards, rocking him to and fro like a child in a crib. A slightly husky female voice had whispered comforts into his delicately pointed ear, stroking his feverish cheek affectionately.

He could feel her strong heartbeat pounding against his gasping chest, and he uncomfortably tried pathetically to shift himself away from this maternal onslaught, only managing to bump his ripped arm into the wall behind, making it screech.

_God...I...??..!...What is this..? Who is this...shit, it hurts so bad..!..It hurts, it hurts...Why? Why...Make it stop! Just kill me, make it stop, just kill me... _

But the arms held him tighter; the pain washed over in flurries of agonizingly hot waves, and he did not die... He did not die.

Eventually, he managed to slow his shrieks to mere whines, and his pain-blinded eyes adjusted to the new light of consciousness, however dim it may be... He rolled his head to the side, and saw the owner of those encasing arms to be a very anxious-looking Jill Valentine.

Yes, he remembered her...

_Jill...Jill...S.T.A.R.S, Alpha, machines, explosives... She found me here. Remember her face, so big, so Godlike, looking down on me... Looking down on a worm, and feeling pity... Pity? Of course. Benevolent Goddess, she... didn't give up on me... _

His thoughts formed in uneven blocks of words, and they sounded odd even to his own mind. His physical feelings were almost entirely governed by the hub of pain on his upper left, ruling everything, dictating everything...

He still wished he would die, just _die_ so he could forget the light and the agony and the faces and the moths...  
But he knew he wouldn't. His weak frame was feeble, but he could feel a curious new strength of sorts seeping into him, urging him on, urging him to live.

His brightening eyes flickered over to another figure kneeling nearby, a small figure of delicate build, their face hidden by shadow, hands clasped tightly on their lap.

Jill placed her hand on his forehead, lightly but making him jump a little, and Richard twitched his head around to gaze up at her from his still slumped posture. She regarded him sorrowfully before removing her hand and leaning in close to his ear again.

"Richard... How are you feeling? You've been... Well... You've been unconscious for a quite a while, you needed some quite urgent medication."

Richard frowned a little; Of course he recalled being attacked, he remembered _that _quite well, but he remembered only that what had attacked him had been unnaturally big, and his escape had been but a mere lucky fluke.

"Y...You don't remember? I found you here when you were collapsing, you were obviously attacked by...something, umm, _poisonous,_ but we don't know what...?

Richard'd frown set deeper, rendering his usually pleasant face quite fierce and bitter. His mind re-lived those terrible moments over and over, searching for the blank, but it was as if he'd unconsciously erased the thing's image from his memory altogether.

He sighed and shook his head, his face relaxing back into a soft-looking innocence. The corners of his eyes glistened shakily, and he sniffed heavily, rubbing at his eyes like a hayfever sufferer. He stared tearfully up at the ever-worried face of Jill,

"I'm... Really sorry, I... I don't know what it was..." He pointed over at the light grey wooden door leading away from the main corridor outside, "The attic... it was in there, but I can't... remember... I mean... Ughhhh..."

He lapsed into a pained silence as he clenched his pearly teeth together against the burning again, scrubbing at his leaking eyes furiously. Jill sighed and let go of him finally, allowing him to lean back a little, still sucking in air a little too vigorously.

The other kneeling figure finally stirred and rose to it's feet, and Richard needed no time to recognize the fair face of Rebecca. Although, automatically, his mind began to replay to him those moments as the Bravo helicopter plummeted for the forest; the utmost terror he remembered in her face as she clutched and tugged at him for comfort made him shiver.

Rebecca tilted her head sweetly to the side, her face graced now with a small, demure smile, yet her eyes still creased with concern at the corners.

"Richard... We were so worried about you. When we came and found you... I was so _scared..._" She paced a few steps closer to him before kneeling again, taking his quivering wrist to measure his pulse rate.

Her small fingers pressed lightly on the raised, visibly pulsing vein on the silky skin where his hand met his wrist, and she nodded, satisfied, before releasing him gently.

She looked up at Jill, "His pulse has stabilized, and it feels like his body temperature is rising a little too. Good signs."

Jill managed a grateful smile, looking back down at Richard, who was switching his gaze between them, looking a little confused.

"You hear that? You're gonna be okay! God, I'm so relieved..!"

Richard tilted himself away a little, awkwardly, as Jill started pawing at him again. He got the impression that she was being deliberately over-protective to try and... make up for something? Satisfy herself that he was really alive?

Either way, he felt much to cramped and tense, and _really_ wished she'd give him some _room_...

"Okay," declared Jill finally, staring over at Rebecca "We need to move him out of here, get back to Chris in the .. -"

"Chris??" Richard interrupted suddenly, his voice sounding stronger and less forced, "Chris is okay?"

He felt an optimistic swell inside of him; he hadn't given much thought as to who in the Alpha team had arrived and _survived_, but it seemed Chris had, and that meant Richard would have a chance to... well, finalize a few things on his mind.

"Umm, yeah, Chris is fine. Ehh, mostly anyway... He's had a bit of an accident, too.

"He's alright!" Jill repeated insistently as Richard opened his parched lips, eyes widened in dismay, "Really, he'll be fine. He got attacked, like you, when he was outside, some dogs... -"

Richard flinched and coiled himself backwards; his blackened memory recalled _those _things quite vividly...

"Anyway, we really need to get you moving, Richard, we have to get somewhere safe where we can patch you up properly." Jill said in a finalizing tone, and she rose to a crouching position, hooking her arm around Richard's right, prompting over at Rebecca to take the other side. She stepped over unsurely, very carefully grasping only his left forearm and round his lean waist.

Richard groaned as they heaved him slowly to his shaking feet, falling back a little against the supportive wall behind as they did so. He motioned down at his scuffed assault rifle, and Jill bent down to retrieve it, tucking it precariously through her black belt. He built up his mental determination, pursed his cracked lips and lurched his frail body forwards, helped on by his two team-mates.

Jill was strained upright against him, pushing all her weight into holding him as straight as she could, whilst Rebecca struggled heavily to keep his awfully weak left side aloft, his fragile body sagging onto her and draining her meagre strength.

It was the single most dreadful and agonizing thing Richard ever remembered doing in his all his twenty seven years of life.

Every other step he took threw a wall of pain up his left side, causing him to stumble most times, putting huge pressure on Rebecca, who devotedly stayed at her mark, but was quite clearly suffering.

Each time they came to a door, Jill had to steady him against a wall, allowing him to catch his breath and build up a little more strength, whilst Rebecca propped it open as best she could, then helping Jill pull him through sideways.

He kept as quiet as he could, knowing that his cries upset them both, but when a footfall sometimes landed a little too heavy, or they jolted a piece of furniture, it felt like his arm was being _sliced off_, and he couldn't help mewling and whimpering loudly as the pain tore at him.

As they finally squeezed through the door to the barrier stair hall, leading down to the medicine room, they were all drenched with sweat, panting, having to stop for frequent breaks sitting on the hard floor and shaking with fatigue.

At least they met nothing troublesome on their way over; they were so tired that anything hostile would have had quite an easy job ripping them up.

They paused as they reached the dark wooden stairway leading downstairs, stood silently with their arms clawed around each other, gazing downwards in a resigned dread.  
It had to be done; and it was the worst part of the lot.

Jill held Richard's front steady as they progressed at tortoise speed down the first few steps, and Rebecca grasped his shoulders from behind, keeping him as upright as possible.

He grasped frantically at the thin banister with both hands, his fumbling legs taking small, clumsy steps.  
He almost fell twice; Jill had heaved with all her strength to push him backwards, grabbing his middle before he yanked them all down with him, and he howled as he hit the steps above, buckling Rebecca's knees in the process.

At last, it was done. They were at the bottom, exhausted, wheezing for breath, but there. Richard widened his pain-ridden eyes as he saw the bullet-riddled corpse of the decaying monster at the foot of the stairs; they all took care to step around it as they headed for the small door under the stairs. Rebecca held it open as Jill tugged Richard inside, him holding the doorframe for support.

He looked achingly over at the bed in the far corner of the room, which was already occupied by a solitary figure.  
Chris's posture was turned towards the wall, his left leg bent whilst his other lay straight and stiff on the sheets.

As Richard struggled a little closer, he made out a thick-looking bandage encasing the straight limb, stained with dregs of brown blood and a yellowish patch of moisture seeping through from inside.  
Rebecca steadied Richard's wavering body as Jill approached Chris' figure slowly and gently peered over at him, touching his toned shoulder and shaking it.

"Chris? You okay..? We've got him." He didn't stir, and Jill bent over him a little more, putting both hands on him and shaking a bit more urgently,

"Chris! Wake up, you need to shift up a bit. _Chris_!?" She bleated his name loudly in his ear, and he groaned and fidgeted, turning slightly to look up at her.

"Uh...hunh..Wha..?" He obviously felt the sting in his leg flare up again, as he winced and moaned, twitching the bandaged leg from side to side.

"We've got Richard, but he's really not in a good shape, can you budge over a little?"

Chris looked over at Richard, who was huffing and shivering, his taut, pale face rigid with the strain of standing. His dark sapphire eyes gazed at the bed longingly, his weary legs crying out for rest.

Chris flashed a friendly, eased smile at Richard, who was too sore and tormented to twitch his face into anything more than a grimace. Chris propped himself up on his hands and gently eased himself backwards a little, squashing himself as much as he could against the wall.

The bed itself was only small, and very low, so it was an uncomfortable squeeze as Jill and Rebecca helped Richard down, laying his head opposite Chris' feet, and hoisting up his legs beside Chris' head, his boots pressing against the low headboard.

Richard's right arm dangled down onto the floor slackly; his body barely fit fully onto the bed at all, his left side pressed against Chris snugly.  
Rebecca busied herself immediately with attending to Richard's ripped arm, which was heavily bruising an awful maroon colour by this stage, hunks of clotted blood visible under the tight, stained skin.

The white creamy liquid Jill saw earlier was unseen, though; the wound leaked only tiny streams of dark red blood, which had stained all down his forearm and onto his thick orange t-shirt and dark green combats in untidy splatters.

There were a few small specks on his face also, brown and flaking now, and a few locks of his blonde, gelled fringe was matted with it.

Rebecca cleaned the ugly wound with antiseptic and another kind of serum she found, a weaker, gel-based version for use on open lesions. Richard cried out in protest, grabbing at her feebly with his other arm as she comforted and reassured him, but the liquid soon began to soothe rather than sting, and he quietened, closing his flickering eyes and settling his head back.

She squeezed some more on another roll of linen bandage, rolling Richard over carefully onto his side while she wound it securely right down to the crook of his elbow.  
He winced as she applied the tight bandage, but the pressure it provided gave some more small relief, and he could finally relax more easily onto the crumpled sheets.

Jill, who'd been watching curiously, not sure what she could help with, picked up one of the thin pillows on Chris' side of the bed and tucked it gently under Richard's head, laying a hand on his forehead again.  
His body heat was definitely making a comeback; his head was hot but not burning, and when she moved down to his cheek, he felt healthily warm, his complexion regaining some colour.

Jill nodded and smiled over at both Chris and Rebecca, both of whom grinned in return. Rebecca slumped down in the bedside chair, breathing deep and stretching sustainedly. Jill knelt down and stared up at Richard, watching the graceful inhale-exhale of his sleekly-built chest. His mouth was slightly parted, and his eyes kept flickering open and closed, looking lost between sleep and consciousness.

Chris opened his mouth to say something to Jill when three loud, successive beeps emanated from Richard's belt. They jumped, staring at Richard, startled and confused. Chris frowned, leaning forwards awkwardly and plucking the hefty radio from the belt compartment, seeing the tiny red light in the corner flashing and beeping urgently.

He lifted it hesitantly to his ear, holding it away a little in distaste as it buzzed and crackled with interference. He thought he could hear a slight voice in the background, but it was impossible to distinguish from the noise. It cut off after ten seconds or so, and Chris looked over at Jill, shrugging disappointingly.

He studied it for a few moments, and was tucking it back into Richard's comms belt when it suddenly beeped again, louder this time. Chris flinched again, yanking his hand away in shock. He slowly removed it and held it aloft, peering frustratedly at it. A static started up again, but much fainter and less imposing on the line. After a few seconds, a worried, adolescent-ish voice crackled into audio, a few letters and words muffled by interference.

"A..Alpha team? ...ravo Team? Is anyone th..re? Can ..nybody hear me? This is ...ad. If there's anyone there, ...se answer, let me kn..w you're okay...?"

Chris' widened eyes flickered over to Jill's and back. That voice...

"Look, I ..n't know if you can an..wer me or not, I re..ly don't know if you can ..ven hear me... Bu.. it's Brad, and I need to ..ow if you're okay... ...."

As soon as they heard that name, Chris' half-relaxed face darkened, and he gripped the radio with an angered tightness, gritting his teeth in a snarl.

Jill reached over and grabbed the radio before Chris could bark anything vulgar and spoil the atmosphere...

"Brad? Brad, come in, this is Jill! This .. -"

Before she finished her sentence, Brad's slightly whiny voice interrupted, lowered a little, and the message continued blindly,

"I'm so, so ..orry that I left you... I know you'll n..er forget what I did, and I don't exp..t to be forgiv..n, but I... I ..d t...." There was a slight pause, "I'll put righ.. what I did, I promi..e. I'm coming to get you. To get ..ou all. Hang tigh.., guys. Just ..ang tight..."

The transmission was terminated; the red light disappeared and the background interference ceased altogether.  
Chris was sat in mute rage, his fists clenched and jaw set in anger. He bent and shook his head slowly, lips pursed and one eye twitching slightly.

"Hey, you heard that, Chris! He's coming to get us! He's actually coming _back_ for us!"

Chris looked up, a deep shadow set under his narrowed mossy eyes,

"Coming _back_ for us..." His voice seethed with a thick sarcasm, "How incredibly _**kind**_..." His frown intensified, upper lip raising to flash a top row of slightly uneven teeth, "If that _gutless bastard _had stayed put in the first place, we wouldn't _be_ stuck in this bloody place, would we?"

Jill looked over warily, raising an eyebrow, "Whoa, can't you just be grateful he's coming back at all? We're gonna rot in this place if we don't get airlifted out of here, and who else is going to come for us? Huh?"

Chris pouted sullenly, looking away at the wall and muttering darkly. Jill shook her head agitatedly and looked down at Richard, whose eyes were half open, his expression slack but comfortable.  
She leant in close, "Did you hear that, Richard? Brad's coming back for us in the chopper! We'll all be out of here soon, we'll all be safe..."

Richard heard, and nodded weakly, the tips of his mouth curling into a small, contented smile.

_We'll all be safe... Ahh... But will we? We're all tired, we're all hurt in one way or another; do we have the __**strength**__ to get out? A...ahah... You know, I'm not all that sure __**I**__ have the strength to make it much further at all... It just takes one slip up, one wrong turn to get us cornered and helpless... _

_I think it's all too much for me._

_I'll do what I can; but I __**know**__ I'm dying in this mansion... Heh, one way or another... _

And, resigned to his pessimistic and condemning personal fate, he leaned back and stared up at the flaking, molding ceiling, his smile widening to the eerie grin of a madman.


	9. Chapter 9

Chris stared sullenly at the off-white, peeling wall beside the sickbed, his face set in a moody sneer, feeling more useless than he probably ever had done.

He'd been left behind in the medicine room with Richard, who was currently dozing lightly, while Jill and Rebecca had left to locate the clearing site again, where Brad would have to pick them up.  
It'd have been too much of a struggle to move even Richard, with the state he was in at the minute, let alone Chris as well, who needed support to move with his crippled leg.

Jill had taken Richard's assault rifle with her, in case they ran into any trouble on the way.  
It had a full barrel, and she had found another case of ammo in one of Richard's pockets, which she'd taken also.

Chris turned his head around casually, surveying the room's contents for probably the hundredth time, his eyes finally resting hesitantly on Richard's sleeping figure.

He'd become non-responsive a short while after Brad's radio messages; he'd lain grinning inanely, laughing queasily at nothing before his face dropped and he stared straight upwards, muttering dark, half-words of nonsense.

Jill had become increasingly worried, demanding Rebecca check out his status and make sure nothing was wrong. Rebecca had insisted that, medically, he was fine, temperature normal, breathing healthy...  
But his mind seemed to be under a lot more strain than the rest of him, and it bothered Jill deeply that she could offer no support to his concerning condition.

They had sat mostly in silence for three-quarters of an hour or so, Rebecca nodding off in her chair, Jill twiddling her thumbs in a silent frustration. Chris had asked gently as to the whereabouts of Barry and Wesker, and Jill had shifted awkwardly, muttering that Wesker had done a disappearing act on them, and Barry was off searching for the rest of the Bravo team, and looking for a way out...  
She'd trailed off absently, and Chris felt a little too uneasy to ask any further.

Chris' mood had deteriorated into a quiet sullenness again after sitting and thinking about things for a while, feeling hopelessly frustrated and annoyed at a certain _someone_, who had already wasted so much time they _didn't_ have on pointlessly abandoning them, only to get a guilt trip and scurry back like a rat...

_Or perhaps he doesn't want to at all? He must have gone back to the R.P.D to send those messages... Maybe he got such a grilling from Irons when he got there that it scared him into coming back for us... Heh, doesn't take much, does it... _

Subconsciously, Chris did feel bad about totally blaming Brad for this; he'd never held anything personal against the guy, and although he was an odd sort, very shy and introverted, Chris had respected how reflective and thoughtful he was.

And how good he was at his job...

But, his one cowardly act of betrayal had overshadowed all of this, and Chris found it an inexcusable crime that he couldn't, and _wouldn't,_ forgive.

Jill had seemed much more tolerant of his actions, and it was really bugging Chris that she really didn't appear to find it as despicable a thing as he did.

She'd just mumbled about the "Pressures of Circumstance," and "You Never Know What an Officer will do in the Line of Duty," and all that rubbish.

Chris had noticed before that those two seemed to get on pretty well together. Not being _over_-friendly or anything; he didn't think Brad would have been able to cope with _that_, but Jill often defended him or stuck up for him when the lads were poking fun, or throwing scrunched up paper in his direction, or messing around with his stuff when he had his back turned...  
Childish stuff, really, but it was just too damn _easy_ to take advantage of his nervous, timid personality. You have to be able to stand up for yourself in the real world...

Chris turned his gaze away from Richard, propping himself up a little more and testing out moving his bandaged leg. It didn't hurt so much to move it anymore, but when he tried putting any weight on it, it wailed and throbbed again, and it didn't stop for quite a while afterwards.

The disturbance of Chris' movement jolted the bed a little, and Richard opened his distant eyes a little, letting out a long, pained breath and shuffling his weight around slightly.

Chris looked back over at him in pity, staring with sympathy at his thickly-wadded upper left arm. Like his, Richard's bandage was stained with specks of blood and antiseptic liquid, but at least that hideous wound was concealed below it.

Chris dreaded to think what it was that had caused such a huge, vicious bite like that. Jill had told him Richard had amnesia; he'd blanked out a lot of what had happened to him, and he seemed to have trouble thinking straight most of the time now.

The creature's poison had set in deep, and though the serum they had given to him had done it's job, neutralizing the venom and rebuilding some of the tissue damage, the mental scars of all his ordeals were carved much deeper.  
It would probably take a long while for his mind to recuperate itself; putting what had happened into the past and kicking him back to the present.

Richard groaned a little, tilting his head weakly over to where Chris sat, his eyes blinking successively.

"Hunh... uhh.. Chris..." He shifted his twitchy eyes over to Chris' injured leg, "Are y..ou okay? Jill s..aid you were att..acked by those do..gs outside..?"  
His voice was weak and defenseless, and he panted a little between syllables. Chris smiled a little, rubbing his hand softly over the top of the bandage,

"Yeeeah, I'm alright. They got me surrounded, and a couple pinned to me the floor and had a good old go at my leg... Another one managed to get my shoulder too, but that's neither here nor there. Got them all down though," He added with a cheeky smirk, "I _proper_ beat on_ those _bitches."

Richard smiled warmly, amused, but it was soon replaced by a furrowed brow of confusion,

"But... Where were the ot..hers? Why weren't you a..ll toge..ther?"

Chris sighed and rubbed at his neck,

"Well, ehh, we _were_ all together, but those dogs were after us all the way up to the front doors, and, umm, I knew we'd have a big job getting rid of them of we didn't lose them, so... I led them away down the side of the mansion, and that's where they got me surrounded..."

Richard was looking at him in mixed surprise and awe,

"Y..you mean that you deli..berately face..d them all on y..our own!?"

Chris nodded, shrugging with modesty, and Richard cast him a sideways smile,

"Y..ou're always the hero , aren't you?"

Chris laughed quietly, his eyes flickering downwards in slight embarrasment, clasping his fingers together, fidgeting. Richard coughed weakly a few times, letting out a small sigh afterwards.  
Chris looked back down at him, a little concerned as to how ill he sounded, and Richard took a few gulping breaths before his gentle smile returned,

"Guess you did g..ood, buddy... Don't know w..hat this team would do with..out you, ya know..." He broke off to cough again, heavier this time, and Chris leaned forwards as much as his propped leg would allow, putting a hand on Richard's juddering shoulder, feeling a comforting heat emanate from below the cloth of his tee-shirt.

Richard's coughs slowed to croaky wheezes, and he laid back again, weakly, his dull eyes narrowed, his mouth dry and slack. He turned his head sideways towards Chris, staring at him almost pleadingly, raising his left hand feebly as much as his half-paralyzed side would let him.

His fingers stretched and twitched feebly, clutching at nothing.

Chris looked on in utmost pity, folding his own fingers around Richard's and and closing them lightly but securely. Richard squeezed back pathetically, his face twinging as the muscle movement obviously upset his upper arm. His pained, vulnerable expression tugged heavily at at Chris' heart, and he couldn't help leaning in a little closer, wrapping his other arm very carefully around Richard's forearm, gazing at him as he, Richard, closed his eyes with a tiny smile lifting the corners of his cracked lips.

Chris let himself go a little more, scooting up a tiny bit, bending his injured leg a little and leaning himself over Richard's middle, teasing his arm around his shoulders and resting his head gently on his unevenly-breathing chest. He could hear Richard's heart beating rhythmically below his ear, his upper-body rising and falling so loosely against his cheek...

Richard stayed silent; his tired head lay still against the flimsy pillow beneath it, but his better right arm rose slowly from it's limp posture, resting delicately around Chris' back.  
His nails dug into the textured material of his jade protective jacket, and Chris murmured contentedly, relaxing deeper onto Richard's slender chest.

They stayed in this sweet embrace for a time; Chris' skin soaking in the soothing heat seeping through Richard's padded shirt, and Richard lying peacefully, calmed by Chris' touch and his reassuringly firm hold on him.  
Chris finally looked up at him, smiling warmly as Richard felt him rise and looked at him also, returning a weary but happy smile.

"Chris..." He said shakily, his smile fading, his voice quiet and forced, "I'm... I'm not sure how much long..er I can hold on... It... It really hurts, and... I..." He trailed off powerlessly, closing his eyes tightly and taking a long gasp of air.  
Chris blinked and tilted his head to the side, bending in a little closer to Richard's helpless face, their cheeks brushing softly as he leaned close to gentle whirls of Richard's ear.

"I know it hurts... every time you breathe, I can see how the pain digs in..." Chris' voice was a whisper, and he nuzzled up to Richard's pronounced jawline as he spoke, "But you have to stay with me... Just don't give up, and we'll all get out of here, all together... We'll get you home, nice and safe... We'll look after you, I promise."

Richard's jaw jolted a little as he spoke in a vague, low tone,

"Promise..?"

Chris sighed and nodded gently;

"Promise."

Richard took a shuddering breath and chuckled sleepily,

"Then I'll try my best to hang on... For you, Chris.. I'll... try."

With those last few struggled words, he slipped into another hazy sleep, his hand releasing Chris' jacket slowly and his head lolling sideways, and he and Chris lay cheek to cheek in their secret embrace.

Jill and Rebecca made it back to the front doors of the mansion with around five minutes to spare before Brad should arrive outside.  
The flight would take only around an hour, and they really wanted to be there when he showed up, make sure nothing spooked him enough to make him scarper again or anything...

They took a few minutes to push away the flimsy barricade from in front of the doors, Jill doing most of the work heaving and straining against the various pieces of small furniture that blocked them in.

Rebecca hugged herself tightly as Jill warily pushed the front doors open, peering around the door frame into the inky blackness still carpeting the forest outside. Chris had taken care of the dogs lurking around out here, he'd said, but Rebecca still felt very nervous about venturing out there again;  
_What if there were more_?

She'd have guessed that the dogs traveled in a pack, so it would be unlikely for any others to go so far astray, but _still_...

She followed Jill outside, cringing as the icy mountain breeze hit her uncovered arms, rustling her mahogany hair and raising all the goosebumps on her dainty skin.

Jill listened hard for a moment before nodding and beckoning with a finger. Rebecca pulled the doors to behind her, starting as they banged loudly, echoing into the atmosphere around them.

They proceeded with caution through the murky forest, Jill leading the way with her small torch, which illuminated a small slice of the path through the thick trees with a feeble beam.  
As they carried on forwards, Jill's posture became more and more unsure, her head darting left and right, before she finally came to a halt, looking back at Rebecca, confused.

"Hmm... Did.. Did we come this far..? Or..." She looked around again, the torch revealing only tall weeds and sprawling bushes, "Oh, Jesus, I can't remember where we... How bloody far did we..."

She stopped mid sentence as a low rumble lightly vibrated the ground around them; their eyes widened, and they stared upwards, waiting as the rumble got louder and louder.  
Soon, the unmistakable chugging of blades splitting the air was heard above them, and they could see the weak, yellow spotlight of the chopper skimming over the treetops. It was moving quickly, and the spotlight was shifting rapidly from side to side, scanning the landscape below.

Jill and Rebecca ran after it, stumbling over small boulders and tree roots as they followed the chopper east for a way, until they heard the acceleration slow and saw the beam rest in one spot.  
Their clearing came into view after the next few trees, but they took care to stand back in anticipation of the landing.

The chopper decreased altitude slowly and with a brilliant accuracy; the mighty machine swaying a little to pinpoint the exact middle of the alcove. As it came to touch down, the leaves were blasted from around Jill and Rebecca's feet, and they raised their hands in front of their faces protectively and backed off a little more.

Rebecca looked on a little nervously as the chopper reached the ground, merely scuffing the earth with a tiny bump. She hadn't been on the team _that_ long, and much of her time had been spent in training or observing missions with Bravo team; so she didn't actually _really_ know who this guy _was_.

She knew he was the pilot and computer expert for Alpha team, but she only remembered seeing him maybe a couple of times. One she recalled being in a debriefing for both Alpha and Bravo team on a joint rescue; he'd been sat in the back corner, hunched over the small desk chewing nervously at the end of a pencil, various pieces of stationary lined up orderly in front of him.

The other time was in the queue for one of the vending machines outside the lower main office; he'd been approaching, about to walk past, when her money had gotten stuck in the machine, the panel not allowing a selection.  
She'd cursed darkly under her breath, and had been about to move away in a flounce when he'd brushed past her silently, kneeling and clicking open the control board at the bottom of the machine.

He'd fiddled around with it for a few seconds, Rebecca regarding his obscuring back curiously, before popping the board shut again, standing and dialing the selection number Rebecca had just tried pressing.

The machine whirred, and efficiently dropped the chocolate bar she'd been after.

She'd raised her eyebrows, surprised, and she'd bent to retrieve the chocolate, turning to thank him, only to see him disappearing down towards the office without a backwards glance.

_Mmm... I thought then that he was a strange sort. But I can't believe he'd do something like abandoning his team...? Gee, maybe I should be careful around this guy... _

Jill brushed herself down of the bits of twig and leaf that had blown onto her, and half-jogged over to the chopper, now stationary and steadying it's blades.  
The hatch on the side opened before she got there, and she saw Brad's skinny frame jump down onto the ground, his pale, naive face illuminated by the worn torch he carried in his left hand. In his right there was a simple handgun, held tightly to his chest.  
He paced forwards in a few quick steps before he saw Jill, and he jumped and fell backwards again, squeaking and pointing his gun inexpertly in Jill's general direction, his hand ridiculously unsteady.

Jill giggled a little, holding her hands up openly, and Brad's wide eyes squinted, gazing narrowly at her. He sighed and lowered the gun to his side, shaking his head at himself.

"It's only _me_, Brad! Oh, I'm so glad to _see _you!!

She ran up to him and threw her arms around his middle, causing him to stumble backwards a step. Rebecca tried not to giggle at his awkward expression; he was looking down at her with a terrified uncertainty, his lean arms not quite able to hug her back, his back arched.  
He'd managed to pat her shoulder once when she let go, beaming up at him, eyes twinkling.

"You really came back for us! God, when you took off like that, I really thought... Brad?"

His head had dropped, his gaze directed at the floor below, his expression quite sweetly sorrowful. His left foot scuffed the floor a few times, and he walked a few steps away, his posture drooping.  
He turned back round to face them, his eyes large and full of sadness.

"I... I know I left you behind, and... I guess I'd be lying if I told you I didn't know what I was doing..." He scuffed his boot on the earth again, " I just get so... I mean, I try not to..."

"It's alright, Brad." Jill interrupted, "I know you were scared, but you came back for us, that's what matters."

His face formed a rare half-smile that lightened his face, small dimples appearing fleetingly on his slightly blemished cheeks.

"Bet Chris doesn't feel that way...Right?" This seemed to have been bothering him; for his gaze was cast back downwards, his adolescent tone sounding downtrodden and resigned. Jill hesitated, swallowing, not sure how to phrase it delicately,

"Chris just... Well, I think he just needs a little time to..."

Brad sighed, then looked up, his eyebrows furrowed in curiosity,

"Where _is_ Chris, anyway? You out here on your own?"

"Well, Chris had a bit of an _accident_, he's resting up back in the mansion. His leg got tore up pretty bad, and we really couldn't lug him back out here by ourselves. Richard's with him too, but...  
Anyway, Rebecca's out here with me, and we really should be getting back inside, don't ya think?"

Brad turned as Jill beckoned over to where Rebecca stood a little way back, trying to warm herself from the frosty breeze encircling them. She smiled a little uncertainly at him, waving one of her hands quickly before clasping her arms to herself again. He repeated the same smile back, shining the torch in her direction, but taking care not to dazzle her.

"Oh, umm, hi..." he stuttered, "You're... ehh...?"

"Rebecca Chambers, I'm Bravo team's field medic." She finished for him, a little perplexed that he really didn't seem to recognize her at all.

He nodded shortly, tensing his shoulders and throwing another slight smile.  
Jill giggled quietly, amused at the strained silence, and approached the gap between them, peering at Brad.

"Uhh, we could _really_ do with going back to the mansion, you know, before we all keel over in the cold? Let's go get Chris and Richard and get the _hell_ outta here, okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah..." Brad looked around him, frowning, "So it's, ahh, _that_ way, yeah?"  
He pointed an outstretched finger west through the trees, gazing back at Jill uncertainly.

"I _think_ so, we kinda followed _you_ over to this clearing, we weren't sure either... We were in a bit of a panic last time we found our way there from around here..."

Brad winced guiltily, lifting a hand and starting to nibble at a stubby thumbnail. "Yeah, I saw the mansion back that way, but I think I had to maneuver a little more to the east to reach the clearing again..."

"Okay, no problem; We'll follow the trees around west and carry on forwards until we see them thinning out again, thats what we noticed last time."  
Jill voiced the plan confidently, starting off through the trees, beckoning at the others to follow.

Brad and Rebecca exchanged another nervous smile and moved after her, Brad keeping to the rear, lagging a little behind.

The various rustles from the trees around them kept them constantly on edge, still wary of anything malicious that could be crawling about out here.  
Rebecca noticed Brad slowing even more on occasion, and she could see him twitching about and fidgeting out of the corner of her eye as they progressed. He was walking a little crookedly; his right leg limped slightly at every other step, and his breathing was heavy enough for her to hear.

A few minutes into their journey back, Jill suddenly put out an arm to stop Rebecca, who walked into it unsuspecting, squeaking and stumbling backwards.  
Brad stopped in his tracks before he walked into Rebecca, his torch beam shaking madly, finger poised on the trigger of his handgun.

"Wha.. -"  
Jill shushed Rebecca quickly, leaning out into the darkness ahead, listening intently. A high-pitched growling echoed from a way in front; a long, extended, guttural growl which sounded very reptilian.  
Heavy scraping footfalls ambled closer to them, and they all stared ahead in an agonized silence.

The grotesque creature lumbered into view a few seconds later; a vile biped with the overall anatomy of a small gorilla, but it's fat fingers were tipped with long, knife-sharp claws, two yellow, beady eyes glaring from within it's small, squat head.  
It's rumbling snarl continued as it stepped clumsily closer, it's sickly, dark olive-coloured skin dry and scale encrusted.

Jill was debating whether to yell at them to run for it or order an assault when there was a yelp and a weak shot from a little way to the side. Brad had broke off sideways, standing a little way off, his posture unsteady, his face alive with terror.

Brad shot at the creature twice more, shakily off balance and aiming poorly.  
The first two missed; the third grazed the thing's warty shoulder, and it screeched, enraged, leaping wildly in Brad's direction.  
He yelped shrilly, throwing himself to the side just before it reached him, scrambling madly along the floor and scuttling to his feet. The creature leapt back around in a swift movement, ignoring Jill and Rebecca and bounding after Brad's departing figure as he sprinted off into the distance, dropping his torch and gun in the process.

Jill and Rebecca raised their weapons quickly, shooting after the scaly brute in unison. It screeched to a halt, turning and twitching it's sickening little head back and forth between Brad, now in the far distance, and them.  
They fired again, hitting it's chest and side, prompting it to give up on Brad and streak towards them, it's thick claws brandishing in front of it.

Rebecca dived out of the way of its oncoming attack with a nimble roll to the side, leaving Jill space to shoot it squarely in the back of it's head with her powerful weapon.  
The close-range shot pierced through it's skull, leaving a large, gaping hole, ragged edges flapping.  
It swayed and let out a shrieking whine, before falling backwards with a loud thud, Jill moving back with a hasty jump.

Rebecca got up slowly, her uniform stained with cracked dirt and clinging weeds. They both stared down at the creature in shock and disgust, as it juddered and twitched oddly as it's dying nerve endings still tried to move it onwards. Rebecca held a hand to her mouth in disturbed dismay, and Jill turned her head away to the bleak unmarked pathway where Brad had scarpered.  
She shook her head and motioned to Rebecca to follow her away from the felled beast.

"Jesus _Christ_, he had to panic like that and leg it, didn't he!? If that thing had carried on after him... God, he didn't stand a _chance_!" Jill spat angrily, gritting her teeth.

"Well...Guess he just gets scared easy, huh..."

"You're telling _me_ he does!!? He needs to get a frikkin' grip. I'll bloody _batter_ him when I find him..."

Rebecca nodded solemnly,  
"Yeah...Although _I_ was on the verge of running as well, that monster was _disgusting_..."

She bent down to pick up Brad's dropped gun and torch as they passed by, it's batteries beginning to wear down quite low. The butt of the gun was still noticably warm, and she could make out small dints in the leather, which looked like they could be from pressed-in fingernails.  
They hurried back west towards the mansion; eager to get inside before they ran into anymore trouble.

They eventually found their way back, and this time Jill noticed the mansion long before she had done during their panic-ridden journey here earlier.  
It filled the whole view in front of them, the brickwork deep and shadowy in the misty gloom of the night.

Rebecca glanced around worriedly as they neared the main doors,

_Ohhh... I hope he found his way back here... He dropped his gun and his light; What if something else got to him? He seems kind of helpless... _

Jill shoved on one of the doors, backing off frustratedly as it failed to open.

"Bloody thing's blocked ... What the..-"

She battered against it hard, the door opening a smidgen this time. Rebecca stepped up and pushed also, the interior slowly revealed as they propelled the blockage away, finally bursting in, panting.  
Two of the occasional tables they had moved away had been replaced in front of the doors, and one lay toppled over from their force.

Rebecca scanned the hall, and noticed a lone figure scrunched up against the wall in the far left corner beside the stairs, arms clutched around it's knees, head bent low.  
Jill frowned and started marching over to where Brad sat, hands on her hips.

"Brad, for God's sake, what was _that_ all about!? That was one of the most _irresponsible_ things you could've done!" She snorted and cast him an accusing, sideways look,  
"Well, _almost_ the most irresponsible. You dropped your weapon! If Rebecca and I hadn't stepped in and distracted the goddamn thing, it'd be sat on top of you ripping your guts out! What the _hell_ were you thinking!!??"

Rebecca looked over sideways at Jill, noticing how hypocritical she was being on her earlier defenses of him; telling Chris how it was unpredictable how people acted under pressure...

Brad's head raised slowly from his knees, snuffling and simpering a little.  
His shining eyes were wide and tear-filled as he stared up sorrowfully, and Rebecca's heart fluttered as the grief-ridden expression on his pale, tender face bored into her.

He failed to say anything at all; his chestnut eyes just scrunched up with emotion as his head dropped back to his knees, his back shuddering.  
Jill raised a hand to her forehead in mixed guilt and impatience, turning away and leaning wearily against the stair banister.

For a moment, Rebecca's usual shyness was forgotten, and she sat down cross-legged beside him, budging up and hooking her left arm around his shaking shoulders, the other hand holding onto his smooth arm loosely.  
Brad shifted his head to the side slightly to view her; and he turned away again quickly, embarrassed and ashamed; but he didn't shrug away.

_Oh, gosh... He really is helpless, isn't he? Even I can tell he isn't cut out for this kind of work... He's like a child, he looks so damn __**scared**_ ... _I know I'm not much to speak of, but I'll watch out for him. _

_Something tells me he might need it... _


	10. Chapter 10

Albert Wesker listened in on the pitiful scene from his nicely concealed spot underneath the main staircase, his shoulder pressed casually against the embellished wall. He held a knuckle underneath his chin in contemplation, and his eyes narrowed in slight annoyance behind his mirrored shades.

_Hmm... Seems that idiot boy came back for them after all. This...complicates things. Hmph. The one time his cowardice would have actually __**aided**__ me, and he had to spoil it with a foolish bout of bravery. _

"Come on, then, we'd better get back up to Chris and Richard. After that, we're _outta_ here." Jill's voice spoke, her tone slightly agitated.

He could hear the squeaky scuffing of shoes on the polished floor, and he quickly stepped over to the left, silently, pausing then peering stealthily around the corner. They had all indeed moved from their spot; and the wood of the stairs above creaked under their weight as they ascended.

There was a sudden small thud, and a startled yelp resounded around the hall. Wesker flinched a little, stepping backwards warily, limbs tightening defensively.

A few recovering gasps were heard, followed by a quiet female giggle and a lower-sounding sigh. The creaking began again as they carried on upwards, and Wesker curled his lip in irritation, showing a single, gleaming canine.

_Tripped on the stairs... Jesus __**Christ**__... _

He listened carefully as the footfalls died away, finally disappearing altogether with the slam of a heavy door on the left.

He waited a few moments more, to be sure, before stepping out of his hidden spot, approaching the front doors in a swaggering gait, a small malicious smile etched onto his strong-jawed face.  
He pulled a long silver key from the breast pocket of his blue-black protective vest, engraved at the top with the red and black shape of an umbrella.

He stuck the key into the old, slightly rusting lock of the door, turning it sharply to the side with a small click. He tested the brass doorknobs to double check, and his smile widened as they stayed securely locked shut.

Wesker replaced the key carefully in his pocket, pulling the black zip shut smoothly. He strolled a little over to the right, placing a hand on his hip and holding the other up to his left ear, which a modern shortwave radio was hooked neatly around, a thin microphone protruding from it, hovering a few centimetres from his tight-lipped mouth.

He clicked a small switch at the back of the device, and twiddled a tiny dial beside it as an annoying static invaded the line almost immediately.

As it died down a little, he flicked another switch on the front of the radio, leaning back on the wall behind as he spoke in his unemotional drawl into the mouthpiece,

"Barry. I've secured the main doors. Are we still meeting as planned?"

There was a slight pause; and Wesker was frowning, ready to speak again as Barry replied in a low, gravelly tone,

"Yeah. I'm there already. Let's just get it over with, okay?"

Wesker grinned slyly as he answered, the sleepy light of the hall glinting off a platinum-capped tooth,

"Oh, Barry, can't you be a little more sporting about it? You're part of a rather magnificent scheme here, you should be grateful." His grin ended in a sneer as the line was terminated, cutting him out of the conversation.

He clicked the switch on his radio with a nimble finger before making his way casually over to the staircase, ascending the steps in threes with long strides. He paused in front of the back door: the small, slightly concealed door which he had spied Chris using to enter the mansion earlier from outside.

He'd been keeping a _close_ eye on them all...

He used his master key again on the almost unnoticeable lock, pulling it out with force as it tried to wedge itself into the small keyhole. He shoved on the door a few times, satisfying himself of it's closure.

_Heh... That'll sort them out. Theres no escape for them now, and they'll have to come to __**me**__, like little lost lambs to their caring shepherd...Ready for the slaughterhouse._

He circled over to the right, passing the single door in front of him and approaching the lonely door at the end of the walkway, tucked into a corner.

The door was a little hesitant to open as the cool air outside had caused it to stick a bit from constant exposure. Wesker shoved it open with a forceful push on the handle and stepped through, the misty wind surrounding him in thin waves, the coldness slicing against his faultless skin.  
He continued in through the narrow, glass-encased corridor leading to a small terrace, his slender boots clicking rhythmically against the dull, stony floor.

He passed a scraped and cracked glass tea table, the chairs upturned and in disarray on the floor. Slimy-looking moss poked out between the aging brickwork on the outside wall around him, oddly placed plant pots overflowing with stringy weeds and crumbling leaves.

As he turned the corner onto the balcony, he spotted Barry leaning heavily on the railings, looking out over the thick, foggy forest, a kind of melancholy weariness straining his chiseled features.

A low, feeble roll of thunder echoed in the distance, and a few fleeting drops of rain brushed Wesker's cheek as he approached confidently, making little noise as he came to a halt a few feet away from Barry.

When he didn't move, Wesker coughed sarcastically, making Barry jump and whip his head round, his face creasing into an agitated annoyance.

"God Almighty, it's you. You sure know how to creep up on people." He sneered in distaste, "I guess _snakes_ are good at that, huh?"

Wesker smirked unpleasantly, his posture open and swaggering again,

"Barry, Barry..."

He swiped off his ebony shades with a sudden sweep, uncommonly revealing his cold, deep-green eyes, encircled with the greyish whirls of sleeplessness. He exhaled his warm breath onto the surface of each lens, rubbing at them with the soft black leather of his gloves.

"You know, with your charming wife and _lovely_ daughters in such a... _precarious_ situation, maybe you should know better than to get **smart-ass **with me..."

He held his shades up to the flickering light of the suspended gas lamp above them, rotating them so they glinted with a bright sheen, before replacing them back over those dead eyes. He folded his arms over his athletically-built chest, his obscured gaze glaring in Barry's direction.

Barry sighed deeply, his stance melting into that of an introvert; a hand clutching at his arm awkwardly, his head bowed in anxiety. His eyes flickered upwards,

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. Okay? Just tell me what you want me to do."

Wesker leered at him unkindly,

"I should think so. Right, I need to get down to the labs, get everything prepared for our little _showdown_. I need you to -"

There was the bang of a door from behind them, and Wesker broke off abruptly, glancing irritatedly behind him and fleeing almost unnaturally quickly over to and around the nearby corner, which lead to a dead end against the mansion wall.  
Barry gazed after him, a little confused, before a solitary figure appeared from the connecting terrace. Barry saw him illuminated in the weak gaslight, and his face adopted a half relieved, half worried expression,

"Forest...?"

Forest Speyer approached shakily, his deep navy vest noticeably ripped and bloodied around the collar, a nasty-looking gouge wound deep red and ragged on his long neck. His usually silky long hair hung in uneven black clumps in front of his face, the layered roots and tips slicked with drying sweat.

His sky blue eyes were heavy with weariness, and a thick dribble of blood had slid down from a large splat on his forehead, running over his slightly stubbled cheek before a dark smudge showed evidence of it being wiped impatiently away.

"Christ alive, what happened!?!"

Barry's tone was concerned, but he stayed a safe distance away; his burly fists clenching and unclenching in strained reservation. Forest reached the balcony railings and slumped sideways against them, breathing heavily, his chiseled features gazing downwards tiredly.

His sleekly tanned right hand raised upwards to clutch at the gaping hole in his neck, grimacing when his fingers came away slippery with fresh, deeply scarlet blood.

"Bleedin' bastard son-of-a-bitch bit me," he spat venomously, his strong, southern accent clouded with pain, "Launched itself at me down in the basement, tore a great fat chunk right outta me, hurts like _shittin' hell_..."

He tailed off, leaning forwards and gripping tightly at the railings, the hot blood on his hand pressing onto the sturdy metal and starting a slow trail down towards the floor.

Barry still kept his distance, yet his small bleak eyes wrinkled in pity as he gazed over at the vicious-looking bite, still leaking small jets of blood onto Forest's torn collar.

"Jeez...Well, I'm glad to see that you got away okay. We've been looking around for you lot for a while now, you're the first... Ehh... Well, the first _able-bodied _one that I've come across..." Barry trailed off delicately, gritting his teeth and pursing his lips tightly.

Forest turned slightly to look over at him, tilting his head and frowning a little before a look of understanding crossed his face,

"Oh, you mean _Kenneth_, huh..."

He stared down at the floor, shaking his greasy head slowly and closing his eyes. He could still visualise Kenneth's sprawled corpse on the floor of the east corridor; his head, with that God-awful agonised expression, separated and laying a few inches away from his neck.

He'd discovered him only a short while ago; in his short, dazed wander through the ground floor after the attack.  
The sight had sickened him thoroughly; and he had to stumble back out of the room in haste to avoid his insides churning out whatever was in there onto the lavish carpet.

"He was practically a kid, you know... Maybe not the friendliest, but he was damn good at what he did. If he'd just stayed with us, not gone gallivanting off on his own when that freakin' helicopter crashed..."

He turned away in shame, remembering how quickly Bravo team had fallen apart when that pack of beasts had flung themselves upon them.

Forest had nevertheless been one of the last to flee; Richard and Rebecca had wasted no time scarpering in random directions, screaming and whining like kids.

Enrico had attempted to aid Edward in fending off the hounds, but Edward was trapped under the snarling weight of two of the rabid bitches, shouting out in mixed pain and fury.  
As two more of them turned their bloodthirsty attention towards Enrico, he'd dropped all defence and stumbled backwards, turning tail and running clunkily away into the woods, half-redeemingly firing a few more hopeful shots backwards as he departed.

Forest stayed back, raising his expensive, custom built Samurai Edge handgun and firing with good accuracy, but a little too hastily. This new distraction enraged the hounds; the two wrestling with Edward leapt forwards with the rest of their pack and flew towards him in a flurry of fangs and hot, panting breath.

Forest _had _ran then, giving up only due to the severe outnumberment. He had a naturally athletic build; and combined with his sudden adrenaline surge, his sprint speed left the dogs lagging behind in the dust.

He thought he saw the shapes and shadows of his lost team-mates often in the blurring trees around him on his journey towards the giant, looming mansion Richard had pointed out to them, but they disappeared fleetingly as he passed by at a dizzying speed.

Since reaching the mansion's _apparent_ safety, most of his time had been spent wandering and exploring the basement area, and he'd found a quiet, secluded room full of old hunting trophies in which he'd slumped on the floor, forcing his wild, unwilling eyes into an uneasy sleep to regain his dwindling stamina.

The basement was vast; and he'd found a few interesting places which had puzzled and frustrated him in trying to work out how to access them...

Until that sneaky, rotting piece of _shit _had gotten ahold of him...

He had been on his last clip of bullets, having killed quite a few of the shambling monstrosities down there, and he'd used most of _that _on the bastard that grabbed him...  
It had become more and more frenzied and violent as it's revolting, blackened teeth had bitten scrapingly into his softly-pulsating neck, tasting his warm flesh and salty blood.

His aiming had been poor; being in a _huge_ amount of pain and contorting awkwardly around trying to escape it's deathly grasp, but the creature had finally slid off him and onto the damp concrete below, twitching unnervingly and uttering a mournful groan.

And he'd found his way back up to the surface; still stubbornly searching for any of his team that may still be alive and able to help him...  
The deep bite stung and throbbed like crazy, the ragged edges beginning to itch with a burning urgency.

He pressed his hand up against it again, feeling his demented pulse pumping out yet more streams of blood over his exposed fingers, uncomfortably thick and warm on his skin.

He looked up at Barry again, his light eyes crinkled with pain, his flesh beginning to lose a little colour, taking a sickly pallor.

"It won't stop _bleeding_..." moaned Forest weakly, and Barry shifted to the side in anticipation as he stumbled over to a lonely garden chair sat to the side of the railings, throwing himself heavily onto it and leaning his head backwards.

Beads of sweat had begun to form under his stuck-together fringe, a few trickling gently down onto his drooping eyelids. His skin was tinging an unpleasant green; and his toned limbs fidgeted around in an unintentional-looking way, his features twitching slightly.

Barry could see a subtle movement approaching in the corner of his eye, and he sighed and walked away a few steps, perching unsteadily of the edge of a nearby bench loaded with various plant pots full of dead flowers.

Wesker snuck stealthy down from behind his concealed corner; his footfalls strangely light and faint, and he observed Forest's gradually deteriorating stance upon the chair with mild interest. Barry kept his gaze back towards the terrace, his posture stoical but entirely uneasy.

Wesker smirked with a dark humour as Forest sensed his gaze on him, and whipped his lolling head round towards him in a twitchy jerk. His distant, yet still bright, eyes widened with recognition, and his mouth opened wearily as he spoke in an oddly fatalistic tone full of resignation,

"Wesker..."

He grinned manically and chuckled at a higher pitch, his outward breaths pained and frantic. His unsettling grin widened still as Wesker approached, an unmistakably and maliciously amused expression passing over his shadowed face.

Forest spluttered a few desparate coughs through that frenzied look, and leered at Wesker for his final time, an effortless twinkle in his fading eyes,

"Go ahead, _sir..._"

Wesker's clenched fist was a blur as it collided shatteringly with the side of Forest's slicked head, reams of blood shooting from his high, straight nose and out of his still-grinning mouth. His neck fell backwards, his bloody, comatose head resting lopsidedly against the damp-stained wall behind. His arms went limp, hanging loosely at his sides, his combat-covered legs bent awkwardly outwards.

Barry was firm on his resolve not to turn around, and he didn't even look up to view Wesker strolling so casually past him a little way, his left hand massaging his aching knuckles on the right.

"Here's the deal, Barry. You'll keep your beady little eye on those other S.T.A.R.S rats still scurrying around, and make sure they don't get any smart ideas about scuttling away... Lead them down to me when I give the okay, and not before. Everything has to be ready... Do this little thing for me, and I give you my _solemn_ word that your family will be in danger no longer."

Barry refused to look up at him, knowing the enragingly smug expression he'd be met with already, and he merely mumbled monosyballically towards the floor, forgetting to watch the attitude in his words,

"You'd better not be bullshitting me, Wesker,"

Wesker bristled, aggravated, but decided to let this one slip,

"My _**solemn**_ word, Barry. Alright?"

Barry stayed silent, but nodded curtly, his suffering eyes closing in a guilty apprehension. The silence droned onwards, and Barry forced his gaze upwards fleetingly, only to see that Wesker had departed already, in that unnervingly soundless way.

It took only a few seconds to discover the reason for his sudden exit; as the tremendous sound of thunderous flapping and cawing became gradually audible through the misty night.

Barry gasped, startled, and sprang heavily to his unsteady feet, backing off towards the terrace as the ominous noise grew stronger and more violent.  
He turned and fled back towards the main hall as the first of the black, glistening birds came into view, their circular eyes blank yet vicious, their sharp pointed beaks open and emitting loud, raucous squawks.

Barry permitted himself to turn only once to see Forest's still body sat there so helpless in the wake of the oncoming crows, and Barry's chest filled with painful remorse as ran for the door, wincing as Forest's terrible, newly-awoken screams split the air.

The disgusting sounds of violent pecking and chomping bore into the night, and as Barry threw himself through the door, he could hear Forest screeching his name, screaming, begging for help...

And the door slammed shut.


	11. Chapter 11

As Brad followed uncertainly behind Jill and Rebecca on their way over to the medicine room, the mansion's eerily silent interior unnerved him greatly; and a part of him wished they could get back outside again, if only for the fresh, bracing air...

The oxygen inside felt strained and musty to breathe; and an oddly clinical smell wafted unpleasantly in the atmosphere.  
His limp was stronger than it had been before; his bony ankle having been twisted painfully on a misplaced step on the main staircase, his careless foot falling and wrenching sharply to the side.

He'd had to grab the banister hastily for support as a deep, shooting ache crept nastily up through his calf, buckling his knee and yelping loudly.  
Rebecca had stifled a giggle as he began to pull himself upwards again; his awkward posture and high-pitched cry probably having caused the amusement.

She'd stopped as she saw his face screw up with pain when he eased his weight onto his injured ankle, and she'd earnestly offered him an outstretched hand to help him up the rest of the stairs.

Brad had looked up at her in awkward self-consciousness before hesitantly reaching out his long arm and grasping her small hand. Both sets of eyes flickered away, slightly embarrassed as their warm skin touched, Rebecca tightening her hand around his as she helped him upwards.

Jill was waiting by the door to the dining room balcony, her small booted foot tapping impatiently on the thick-carpeted floor, arms folded loosely across her chest.

When Brad and Rebecca reached the top, they paused for a second before letting go of each other, Brad resting his glinting eyes on her and offering a small, thankful smile. Rebecca smiled back a little sheepishly, and she tilted her head away, pink tinges forming on her cheeks as they made their way over to where Jill stood, waiting.

Rebecca kept pace with him as they crossed the upper balcony of the dining hall; glancing sideways at him as he uttered small pained whimpers with every other step, his eyes narrowed and focused on the wooden floorboards below.

"How badly does it hurt?" she asked, sounding apprehensive.

He looked up, his teeth biting the inside of his mouth,

"It... I'm okay, it's no big deal..."

His eyes snapped shut as he stepped a little too hard and jolted his whole leg, his bitten-down nails pressing into the flesh of his palms as he clenched his fists tightly.

"Once we get back to the drug room, I'll see what I can do to patch your ankle up; you'll be fine," Rebecca promised kindly, and Brad nodded in silent gratitude as they reached the door to the barrier stairs hallway.

They bypassed the thick wooden fence separating the hall, Brad raising his eyebrows in confusion as the odd layout of the room. Jill led the way downstairs, her speed steady, yet her posture indifferent towards the others following.

Rebecca took Brad's warm hand again to assist him down the stairs; her other arm resting securely around the padded back of his bright protective vest to keep him straight.  
He felt a little choked up as his fingers pressed against hers again; but the feeling wasn't an unpleasant one.

He was grateful for the help; and he felt comforted that someone actually seemed to care about him, for once...

He reached the bottom fairly quickly with Rebecca's help, and followed in Jill's wake towards the drug room, the door already open as she'd hurried ahead.  
Brad paused and held back nervously as Rebecca went to enter, and she turned around quizzically, motioning over to him to follow,

"Come on..? Whats the matter?" she asked, sounding a little worried.

He hunched up a little, his faded, muddy boot pawing the carpet slowly, his pale lips slightly parted and down-turned with uncertainty.

He felt apprehensive about seeing Chris in there; he knew _exactly_ how he was going to react to seeing him, and he wasn't sure he could take yet _another_ load of verbal abuse today...

"What is it?!? There's not much point hanging around out _here_..."

When he still didn't move, Rebecca sighed and grabbed his skinny wrist, pulling him, unwillingly, towards the door. Brad stepped uncomfortably into the room, and instantly saw the reclining figures of both Chris and Richard on a low medical sickbed over in the corner.

Jill had seated herself in the bedside chair, and was speaking in a low tone to Chris, who was whispering back rapidly, his face slightly angered as his dark gaze flickered over towards Brad and back, an outstretched, bandaged leg lying rigidly against the off-white sheets below.

Richard lay the other way, twitching slightly in a fitful-looking sleep, his body facing towards the right wall. His relaxed right arm was resting against his gently gasping chest; his other was tucked to the side out of sight.

Chris' whispering became gradually louder and more heated; and Rebecca stepped a little closer to Brad; her soft arm brushing his, posture straightening defensively.

Chris voiced a low, mumbled curse, glaring away towards the blotchy wall moodily, his broad shoulders hunching in displeasure. Jill carried on muttering to him in a tone too quiet to hear properly, Chris replying only with short words and half-hearted sentences.

Rebecca frowned at Chris, unimpressed, before turning back to stare up at Brad, the heavy expression on his face one of obvious worry and tension.

"Let me take a look at your ankle, Brad, I'll see if I can help with the pain?"

Brad looked down at her, blinking and nodding anxiously. As there was nowhere else to sit in the room, he slid down and sat on the hard floor beside the door, easing his right leg carefully out in front of him, flinching as the droning ache intensified.  
Rebecca knelt down before him, picking at the tight double knot of his laces with difficulty, and easing the stiff boot from over his swelling ankle gently.

She tenderly ran her hand over the inflamed flesh under his thick black sock, the toes of his long, angled foot tensing and twitching.

"Hmm... It's not broken or anything, it's just a little sprain. Does that hurt much?"

She squeezed her fingers a little over the slightly bulging ankle, and his face contorted at the contact.

"Umm, kinda, yeah..."

Rebecca nodded, and was about to stand up when she noticed the slashes at the knee of his green-brown combats, dryed blood visible through the holes. She peered at the wound, frowning up at him,

"When did you do this?"

She rolled up the base of his combats up over his knee, the slightly freckled skin of his calf noticably even paler than the rest of him, revealing a small but deep-looking gouge, the flesh totally stripped in a small radius around it.

The blood was brown and crusty around it, and his leg twitched sensitively when she ran a finger lightly along the surface.

"It was outside, earlier. I just tripped, and there was a sharp rock on the floor..."

"Something startled you, huh?"

Rebecca finished his train of thought for him, beginning to get to know his traits quite well. She smiled kindly,

"You're just an accident waiting to happen, aren't you?"

Brad felt comfortingly relaxed under her gentle care, and he flashed her quite a charming, amused grin, his eyes crinkling happily,

"That's me..."

Rebecca's smile widened, and she giggled to herself as she stood up, moving over to the medicine cabinet behind her and gathering a bandage roll, antiseptic lotion and a few small sticking plasters. A small red and black Umbrella logo was centrally placed on each; the huge pharmaceutical company renowned in these parts for their top-of-the-range medical and health-care products.

She knelt back down next to Brad, peeling off the short, fleecy sock, and noticing that his deep hazel eyes seemed to be trained on her as she carefully wrapped a long, soft ream of bandage securely around his twisted and bruising ankle, tucking the end into the first roll.

Brad felt the clenching ache dull a little as the gauze's pressure encased his protruding ankle bones; and as Rebecca squeezed a blob of antiseptic lotion onto the deep cut on his knee, covering it completely with sticking plaster, he felt calmly reassured and much more at ease.

Rebecca moved away to replace the treatment items, and Brad slowly rolled his trouser leg down, and pulled on his sock and boot over his newly wadded ankle. It felt much thicker and tigher now; but he was very grateful that the horrid, creeping ache was dwindling now.  
He was tying the laces in his mad double knot when Rebecca walked back over, settling down next to him against the wall, the both of them feeling a little more confident to smile at each other warmly.

Brad's sickly-pallored face leaned in closely towards her, and a few butterflies fluttered fleetingly inside her as his slightly upturned nose nearly brushed hers.

"Thank you," he murmured gratefully, his breath warm on her face, "It was really kind of you to help me..."  
His eyes twitched to the floor, "I doubt anyone else would have.."

Rebecca cast her soft azure eyes over his, a pinkish blush warming her cheeks again,

"You're welcome..." she whispered back, "I'm... glad I could help.."

Her tender hand reached over and found his, and they hesitantly entwined their fingers together, Rebecca's brushing his sharp knuckle bones, his compassionately smoothing over hers.

Brad bent his head down so their foreheads could bump gently, Rebecca chuckling sweetly as a falling strand of his hair tickled her face, Brad's contented smile spreading to an effortless grin.  
She reached up and delicately swept the smooth lock back over the rest of his shiny hair, and he playfully blew on her short fringe, rustling it and making her laugh squeakily, her arm batting at him jokily.

He laughed freely along with her; a sweet, genuine laugh which he hadn't remembered using in a long time.

Her head tilted sideways onto his narrow shoulder, her bronzish-brown hair stroking the sensitive skin of his gaunt neck, and he eased his lean arm around her slight waist as she snuggled in cozily against his side, her arms lightly enclosing his gangly frame.

"Huh...Well, ain't _that _sweet..." Chris' voice muttered sarcastically from the corner, and Brad gazed over Rebecca's head at him in mixed annoyance and withdrawal. Jill started attempting to reason with him again, but he waved her short, sharp words away impatiently.  
Rebecca ignored him completely; sighing heavily and adjusting her head more comfortably over Brad's pointy shoulder bone.

Chris still glowered over at Brad, his arms folded petulantly across his chest, mossy eyes sullen and unblinking.

"So... found the guts to crawl back, did you? Huh... How badly did Irons bollock you, then? Did he threaten you with the sack?" His eyes suddenly twinkled, an unpleasant, mocking grin spoiling his features, "Or... _Did_ he sack you? This a last errand before you're booted off the force for good?"

He barked a loud, unflattering laugh before his sneering pout returned, his angry eyes level and challenging.

Brad's grip tightened a little on Rebecca for support, and he stumbled awkwardly over his nervous reply,

"No... He didn't fire me, Chris. I... I'd tell you I'm sorry for leaving you behind; but we both know you're not going to believe it..."

Chris snorted hatefully, "Hah... sorry, huh... you knew _exactly _what you were doing. What kind of a man are you, scarpering like a stupid little kid when you're being relied upon? Jesus... If it wasn't for you and your _piss-weak _cowardice... -"

"- Give it a friggin' rest, Chris!" Rebecca's usually withdrawn voice resounded angrily around the room, her face uncharacteristically darkened and threatening, " Leave him _alone_! He came back, he's sorry and he feels damn awful about what he did! Isn't that _obvious_? What more do you want from him!?!"

Brad recoiled as Rebecca's infuriated tone exploded next to him; and he looked down at her in a surprised wariness. Chris also looked surprised, and his eyes darted around uncomfortably as he replied, his voice weaker and less confident,

"Hmph. Well... It's _his_ fault we all got stranded here," he frowned in Brad's direction again; "_His_ fault we all got split up and jumped on by those Goddamn mutts outside. If he'd stayed _put_ ... -"

"Yeah?" Rebecca interrupted furiously, "And if he_ had_? You'd all have ran back to that chopper and flown clean outta here; and you wouldn't have found _**us**_." She looked fleetingly over at the still slumbering figure of Richard beside Chris, his face creased in pain even as he slept, "Jill wouldn't have been here to find Richard in time, and he'd be lying dead and freezing in that corridor!!"

Chris' face was lightened of it's uncouth scowl, and he looked down at Richard aswell, a look of newborn realization dawning across his troubled features. Rebecca's anger dimmed a little as Chris' gentle expression slowly resurfaced, easing the strained skin around his eyes and mouth.

"I think you're fixating a little too much on your moral condemnation here," She continued in a gentler tone, "Can't you think a bit more optimistically? He actually, _kind of_, did us a favour."

Chris gazed down shamefully, and Rebecca turned and smiled up at Brad, who was staring to and fro between them, and he smiled back gleefully as she winked sneakily at him, leaning in onto his shoulder again.

Brad flickered his eyes back upwards and met Chris' awkward gaze, who was rubbing the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.  
His eyes kept flickering down at Richard's sleeping figure; and it seemed, even from Brad's point of view, like there was something unseen between the two of them.

Rebecca had chosen all the right words; she'd known exactly what to say to Chris to send him reeling guiltily, and Brad was taken aback as to the accuracy of her perception.  
Chris seemed to be struggling for the right words, and his voice was low and uneasy as he spoke;

"Brad, umm... I guess I _have_ been a little harsh with you... But you do understand where I'm coming from, right? Brad winced and nodded slightly as he continued, "It was a really irresponsible thing to do; you know that, don't you?"

Brad nodded again, raising his head to look at Chris square on, Rebecca's gentle hold on him boosting his confidence, and he tightened his fingers around her waist a little;

"I know _full well_ it was, Chris. I can see nothing I can say will change your opinion of me; but can I ask that we just _leave _this for now and get ourselves out of here? I'm not asking for your excusal; all I want is a chance... Just give me a chance to prove I'm not totally useless..."

The words came tumbling out effortlessly; and they all turned to regard him as he spoke in a suprisingly clear tone; causing him to sound much older and more mature.

Chris' face twitched, and he shifted into a more upright posture.

"For now. But you know you'll have to take responsibility someday. You're not a child, Brad. Everything has a consequence, and you've got to face up to it. But, you're right. Top priority is getting the hell out of here, and I guess the fact you _did_ come back is reason enough to trust you."

Jill, who had been listening to all of this a little impatiently, restraining herself from interrupting several times, finally rose and stretched wearily.

"God almighty. Talk about soap opera _garbage_... Do you think we can all maybe get _going _now?" She looked down at Brad and Rebecca, still holding on to each other comfortingly, "Umm, Rebecca, you think you can leave Brad alone a minute? If we're going, I'm gonna need some help with Richard. Okay?"

Rebecca glanced up at her and nodded silently, casting a quick smile up at Brad as she let him go, standing up and moving towards the bed as Brad's arm dropped from her side.

Jill approached Richard gently; leaning over him carefully and placing a hand on his cheek.

"Richard...? You awake?"

His eyes were flickering underneath the lids, and he seemed to be murmuring quiet, sleepy words incoherently.

"Rich? Come on, we've gotta get moving. Brad's here, we can go now. Richard!?"

His dopey eyes opened slowly, and he groaned mournfully as reality hit him once more, dolefully staring up at Jill in mild confusion.

"Uhh... Yeah, yeah, I'm awake... huhh.. What we doing?"

"We're leaving now; Brad's brought the chopper."

Richard twisted round slightly to the right to peer at Brad sat alone over near the door, his sleep-blurred eyes taking a second to focus.

"Oh... Hey, man..."

He and Richard had been with S.T.A.R.S for a similar amount of time; and as such had both co-operated in quite a few missions and rescues together. Brad's shyness and Richard's tendency to keep to himself, though, had meant they hadn't communicated much, knowing each other only as team-mates and nothing more.

Truthfully, Richard had never really liked it when Brad got picked on by the other officers at the R.P.D, but he'd never made a open opposition to it either; preffering to remain neutral in these kind of situations.

"Hey... Umm, how you feeling?" Brad asked politely, realising he hadn't actually been told what was wrong with him. He was clearly in quite a bit of pain; it was clear on his strained, tensed face, but it wasn't obvious what was wrong with him from where Brad sat.

"Uhh.. Like hammered crap, to be honest, but I guess I'm okay..." He gazed up at Jill and Rebecca, who were stood over him like guardians, "Thanks to these guys, anyway..."

Jill smiled down at him motherly, and placed a hand on his good shoulder before turning round to Brad,

"I found him upstairs; he just collapsed in front of me, and he's got this huge... _bite_ wound on his arm, but he can't remember what did it to him. There was poison, too... I had to find my way over here to get help, and I found these two all tucked up in here."

Richard was listening to all this with a furrowed brow; looking as if he was hearing all this for the very first time.

As Jill carried on about his poisoning and getting the serum to him in time, how he nearly died more than once, he reached and clasped his bandaged left arm again, the heat of the stinging wound still seeping heavily through the cloth.

He gripped tighter and tighter, and as Jill finished her recounting of his ordeal, Brad noticed his features were locked in a traumatized grimace, his eyes squinting and wrinkled with the painful memories.

Jill stared down at him sorrowfully, leaning and slipping her arm under his heavy shoulders.

"Come on, let's get you up..."

He paused, taking a few deep breaths, and then heaved his upper body forwards with Jill's support, rising and sitting fully upright on the bed.

Chris was watching worriedly, and he automatically reached out and steadied him with a sturdy arm. Richard breathed deeply again, building up strength. He swung his legs outwards and touched down onto the scuffed wooden floorboards below, still clasping at his arm and bowing his head tiredly.

He pushed himself determinedly up from the bed, stumbling a little off balance, and Jill caught him roughly as he teetered to the side unsteadily. He smiled apologetically to Jill and nodded gently at her, and she released him slowly, letting him stand on his own.

His left side still sagged a bit to the side, his shoulder especially hunched and tense, but his overall posture was good, and he tested out walking a few paces unaided, and was satisfactorily even in his steps.  
Jill grinned proudly at him, and Chris, not wanting to look weak and out of place, sat up also, carefully teasing his splinted leg outwards and onto the floor as gently as he could.

He took longer to stand; he had to sit back down a few times as the pressure made his leg scream, but he eventually heaved himself onto it, quickly steadying himself against the wall as he fell sideways a little.

Jill had her arm supportively around Richard, ignoring his gentle insisting that he was okay, and she motioned over at Brad with her other hand.

"Go help Chris, would ya Brad? I don't think Rebecca's strong enough; you'll have to be his crutch."

Brad gulped nervously, slowly rising to his feet and hesitantly approaching Chris' leaning figure. Chris looked up at him with a slightly disapproving frown, not making Brad feel any more comfortable, but he seemed to know he needed the help.  
As Brad stood next to him uncertainly, Chris pushed himself off the wall with care, and Brad hooked his arm round his back clumsily, buckling a little and wincing as Chris' weight fell onto his already quite weak shoulders.

Chris glanced across at him, a little annoyed as Brad struggled to hold him up straight as they crossed the room, Chris' leg still taking most of his body mass.

His hand was painfully tight around Brad's slender upper arm, his forearm pressing uncomfortably onto Brad's sharply protruding shoulder blade.

They all left the medicine room together; Brad struggling awkwardly along with the burden of Chris' weight leeching any strength he _did_ have, Jill holding Richard's waist tightly and unnecessarily as he walked quite steadily by himself, and Rebecca following meekly behind.

She wanted to get Chris' other side, but his bad leg was moving unpredictably as he pulled himself along, and she didn't want to get in his way and cause him anymore pain.

They reached the main hall again without incident; and the eerie silence of the mansion weighed heavily on their already weary shoulders.

It was _much_ too quiet...

After progressing eagerly down the main staircase, and stepping carefully over the various toppled pieces of furniture littering the hall, anticipation was replaced by frustration as Jill placed a hand on the doorknob of the front doors; pulling and pushing fruitlessly with a crushing disappointment.

She turned to the others, fists clenched and a small vein standing up on her paling forehead.

"It's locked!!? Who in God's name..."

She turned back around as Richard stepped up the the door, twisting the doorknob harder with his slowly recovering strength. He frowned and finally banged against the weathered mahogany wood with his good side, shaking his head and backing away as it didn't even budge an inch.

Chris pointed vaguely over his shoulder, motioning to the partially obscured door atop the first flight of stairs.

"Try that one; that's the way I got in earlier when you barricaded the front doors..."

But they were met with a bitter disappointment once again as the pattern-encrusted back door remained stubbornly sealed tight when Jill pushed determinedly on the brass handle.  
She turned back to the others in defeated helplessness, shrugging heavily. Chris' face signalled a grimace, and he looked around the hall a little despairingly, his eyes resting contemplatively on each set of doors in turn.

"So... What do we do now, then? Anyone know their way round this place yet?" He turned half-expectantly towards Rebecca, flickering his gaze between her and Richard, "You come across any other possible ways out since you've been here?"

Rebecca shook her head, eyebrows raised and slightly questioning. Richard looked thoughtful for a moment, before he threw a glance at the balcony above them, cocking his head in consideration.

"Hmmm... Well, I seem to remember there being a long terrace upstairs; it looks down onto the mansion front. I didn't spend long in there, it seemed empty, but maybe we can find a way down from the balcony? Just a thought..."

The group exchanged optimistic nods; and they returned more eagerly up the staircase, following Richard's unsure lead.

He twisted over to the right, pausing a second to survey the surrounding doors on the stair balcony, then continuing on more confidently to the lonesome door at the very end; overshadowed by a looming stained-glass window, which threw glints of moon-illuminated colour onto the fading cream wall beside the door.

As Richard placed his forcibly steady hand onto the long door handle, another door below them slammed heavily; and they all flinched in slight panic, Brad bleating his shrill, fearful yelp noticeably louder than the rest of the startled team.

Heavy footsteps were heard thudding evenly in the echoing lower hall, and Jill's trembling arms clasped the balcony railings as she peered over hesitantly. She gasped excitedly as she recognised the burly figure in his deep red jacket, holding a thick, shining silver magnum loosely at his side.

"Oh God, he's okay..!" She mumbled quickly, almost merely to herself, before she shouted gleefully

"Barry!!?"

He spun round and craned his thick neck upwards, pausing and slowly raising a strong hand to wave slightly in a rigid movement.

She and Richard rushed towards the staircase to meet him, whilst Chris and Rebecca held back, partly because of Chris' reluctance to retrace back down the strength-draining staircase again, and partly because he felt quite _anxious_ about Barry's awkward posture; the way he was backing away from the approaching figures slightly and fidgeting too much with the barrel of his gleaming gun.

The expression of uneasiness and hesitation was clear on Barry's face even from where Chris stood; and it was one that he hadn't recalled seeing before now.

He felt nervous as Jill and Richard approached, Jill jabbering enthusiastically, Barry replying with gruff, unemotional short sentences, his posture hunched and uncomfortable.

Either way, something_ odd_ was going on here; and Chris didn't like it one bit.


	12. Chapter 12

Richard remembered feeling decidedly uneasy as he and Jill hurried over to meet Barry; as they reached the bottom of the lavish staircase, Barry was noticeably rattled and shifty-looking, his body language withdrawn and introverted.

"Barry!! Where have you _been_!?! I was worried about you!" Jill exclaimed excitedly, stopping a few feet away from him, his evasive posture blunting even her wild enthusiasm. Barry fidgeted awkwardly with his silver-barreled Magnum, his wide shoulders hunched, his usually stony face twitchy and vulnerable.

"Uhh... Just, umm, around... I've been looking for a way out, but I've not really found anything..." He answered flatly, his words mumbled and lifeless.

"Okay... Well, I've been pretty busy too, managed to gather most of the team!"

Jill turned slightly and smiled over at Richard beside her, before nodding proudly up at Chris, Brad and Rebecca, who stood silently near the terrace door.

"We'll find all of them at this rate! Have you found... uhh...Well, did Wesker ever make a show?"

"Ehh... No, I haven't come across, umm, anyone..." Barry's gravelly voice had become very forced, and Jill raised her eyebrows at his odd tone incredulously. His eyes flicked upwards to where the rest of the team stood, his brow furrowing as his gaze flowed over the other S.T.A.R.S members, head recoiling in surprise.

"Brad..?" He muttered quietly, and he looked back at Jill in confusion, "When did _he_ get here? Didn't he do a runner?"

His voice was low and careful, but Jill still glanced quickly upwards, checking for any hurt reactions. The group remained still, but they seemed to be whispering amongst themselves, more than likely off-put by Barry's out-of-character behaviour.

"He got here not long ago; he brought the chopper back to pick us up, but we have a bit of a problem..."

She motioned over to the front doors with a general wave, "The main doors are jammed; they seem locked, but... Who the hell else is here to lock us in!?! Back doors out too, so... We're stuck in here. We were planning to find some way down from a terrace Richard saw earlier, and that's when you turned up..."

Barry seemed to notice Richard for the first time; and he nodded gruffly at him, not really meeting his eye. Richard motioned a quick, polite smile back at him, hardly feeling it. His mind was still muffled by fog from his unconsciousness, but even _he_ could tell that Barry was being _odd_...

Barry looked away again quickly, down at the floor as he replied slightly nervously to Jill's statement;

"The... the terrace? Umm... I'm not sure it's such a good idea to go in there..."

"Why not? None of us know another way out of here; and if the terrace connects to the front of the mansion, then we might have a chance of making it to the chopper."

She glanced upwards again, to see Chris leaning tiredly on the balcony fencing, Brad standing a short distance away, talking quietly to Rebecca.

"Chris got hurt outside... His leg's all torn up, and he's still in a lot of pain. It may be a struggle getting him down, but we can't come up with anything better."

"Well, it's just, uhh... It might not be _totally_ safe in there..."

Jill frowned, "Is it totally safe _anywhere_ around here? We've been lucky so far, but we're taking risks wherever we go really, aren't we? What did you see in there?"

Barry shuffled his feet and rubbed a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck,

"Birds" he said finally, "A load of massive, rowdy crows. I got out sharpish; but they're probably still flying about out there."

Jill snickered a little mockingly, raising a single eyebrow and folding her arms loosely, "Crows, Barry? You're a weapons expert; trained with every firearm under the sun, and you couldn't face down a few _crows_?"

Her scornful tone brought Barry back a little from his awkwardness; and he folded his arms moodily back at her, his dark metallic eyes narrowed and contemptuous.

"Hey, It wasn't just a _few_, okay, there was a bloody lot of them! If you insist on going in there, just remember that I warned you, right? Don't blame me if you get your asses mauled."

His tone had regained it's gruff, sturdy sound, and the others on the balcony looked down in surprised interest as Jill spoke back in a similar tone,

"Well, unless you have a different, _ingenious_ way of getting out, we're gonna have to! We can take on a bunch of manky birds."

With that, she turned and marched back up the stairs, Richard staring after her in confusion before jogging up after her, his balance steady, his movement speed swift and almost back to normal. He glanced back down at Barry, who was treading heavily after them, his thumping footfalls reverberating around the hall.

The group turned to stare as Jill approached the terrace door again, her face creased with aggravation. She nudged the door open a little way before casting an expectant look over her shoulder,

"Come on, then. Get ready..."

Chris frowned slightly and shifted uncomfortably, hastily rearranging his weight again as pressure increased achingly on his weak leg, Brad twitching in surprise and catching his elbow clumsily.

"Umm... you sure it's a good idea for us all to go in together? Maybe a few of us should stay out here, just in case...?

Jill sighed impatiently, turning to Barry, who was leaning sullenly against the wall, thick arms folded tightly, head turned away.

"Guess you're staying here then, Barry?" She looked fleetingly over at Rebecca, "You stay here too, Rebecca, look after Richard. Chris, Brad and I will go investigate, that okay?"

Richard cocked his head and raised his fair eyebrows tiredly, "Jill, I'm perfectly alright to -"

"- Chris, Brad, come on." She interrupted, opening the door fully and disappearing through it, leaving it partially open.

Chris curled his lip in agitation, starting forwards precariously, Brad casting a calmly reassuring smile at Rebecca before following beside him as she gazed worriedly at him, standing devotedly at Richard's side as he shook his head in slight annoyance.

Brad clicked the door to as they proceeded through, and, holding onto Chris' shoulder with well-meaning but shaky support, they walked along the narrow glass-encased corridor, wincing and shivering as the near-freezing midnight breeze closed in around them, slicing at the bare flesh of their forearms and faces.

As they reached the main rectangular terrace, treading carefully over the slick, oddly slippery metal tiling of the floor beneath, there was a loud startled gasp from up ahead, followed by a choked scream.

Chris' ears pricked automatically at the panicky sound; and he impulsively shot forwards towards the low balcony railings ahead, twisting and heading right towards the source of the scream.

Brad hadn't anticipated his sudden movement, and he stumbled off to the side as Chris wrenched from underneath him, jarring his ankle, making him screw up his eyes in pain.

Chris hadn't anticipated it either, his weak leg buckling and almost giving way as it was forced to carry his frantic weight so suddenly.

Brad let the blossoming ache in his foot calm down a little before he gingerly limped after Chris, hurrying along the tight connecting walkway leading to a smaller part of the terrace, a misplaced bench blocking half of the already constricted space of the entrance arch.

He came to a sudden halt as he saw Chris and Jill leaning over a partly-obscured figure on the single, low chair next to the sharp balcony railings. He crept a little closer, bending and peering around Chris' back to try and see the figure's face, a face which he barely recognised.

Forest's limp body sat barely upright on the seat, his head twisted angularly to the side, arms slack and motionless. His deep navy protective vest was almost ripped to shreds, a large part of his pale, tattered shoulder and gaunt upper torso exposed on his left side. The flesh was torn in pieces, tiny chunks having been gouged violently out of him.

There was a vicious, leaking wound festering gruesomely on his neck, the dark blood having stained all down his chest and onto the rest of his ragged clothing. His eyes were half open, but blank, their sky blue bleached a blazing cyan, the lids and taut skin underneath black and flaky, surrounded by more deep slits.

Blood-encrusted strands of black hair were stuck unevenly around his agonised face, and his gaping mouth was tensed in a torturous grimace, teeth dry and set at an odd angle.

Jill held a shaky hand to her mouth in dismay, dropping to her knees and staring up at his excruciating face in an unwilling fascination. She reached out towards him, before tightening her fingers into a balled fist and withdrawing her arm defeatedly, head drooping, eyes screwed shut.

Chris managed to hold his posture steady, but his knees began to tremble unwillingly, his chest tight and strained, face frozen in an expression of rigid horror.

Brad's eyes had widened in shocked surprise, and his mouth had slacked at the edges, his pallid skin paling even further into greenish-whiteness.

"Is... Is he...?" he muttered quietly, edging forwards slightly, his hands shaking involuntarily.

Jill whipped her head around impulsively, her eyes wild and furious, teeth bared dangerously.

"Of **course** he's dead! Jesus _**Christ**_, Brad..." she spat venomously, sighing agitatedly and bowing her head as Chris put a strong hand on her shoulder to calm her.  
He cast an accusing sideways glance in Brad's direction before he knelt carefully on his better knee next to Jill, holding a hand supportively to his forehead and closing his eyes tightly. His face tightened and strained against itself as he struggled to keep his composure.

Brad still hung back unsurely, but gazed over at Chris with mounting pity, wishing he was brave enough to offer any comfort to him.

_Chris and Forest... They were best friends, weren't they? They were always together in their lunch breaks, and I'm pretty sure they saw each other a lot out of work, too... This must be so hard for him... _

Although Brad was appalled and sympathetic to see Forest this way, he couldn't really say he'd known the guy_ that_ well... Again, thanks to his less-than-sociable way of conducting himself back at the R.P.D... And he did seem to recall Forest being rather scornful around him whenever they had to work together, talking patronisingly and arrogantly to him in that strong, grating southern accent.

But he was accustomed to it; no-one really knew, or _cared_ about, how to talk to him...

Chris took a few long, deep breaths before raising his head slowly, staring forlornly at Forest's torn face, blinking rapidly.

"Forest... Jesus... _What the hell happened to you?"_he whispered sorrowfully, flicking his gaze from his shredded features to his viciously ripped jacket, a sudden metallic gleam from the breast pocket catching his eye.

He frowned a little and moved his head closer, reaching out a curious hand to investigate, his fingers brushing the smooth material of the navy gelait lightly. As he did so, Forest's deathly still body jerked and juddered, causing Chris to cry out in fear and surprise, wrenching his arm backwards and falling back painfully onto the floor.

Jill dived sideways away from the shaking corpse, hitting the hard iron balcony railings violently and shreiking.

Brad screamed fleetingly and grabbed the plastic beam of the arch beside him, his heart pounding heavily in his ears. Forest's body twitched forwards a couple of times, his deceased eyes still so bright and unnatural, yet blank and lifeless.

He twitched too far and fell from the chair with a thud, scrabbling madly at Chris' outstretched, injured leg, Chris crying out again and pulling it backwards frantically, wincing as the pain bit deep.

He managed to pull himself up against the mansion wall, pressing himself against it in terror as Forest crawled to his knees, his blackened mouth open in a dreadful leer, rotting teeth withering and dropping to the floor as his head juddered from side to side in a surreal movement.

Jill had frozen against the railings, her eyes strained and unblinking, her hands gripping too tightly at the cold metal bars, mouth agape.

With a sudden, violent movement, Forest leapt upwards with an odd agility, shoving Chris hard into the wall by the shoulders, his viciously mauled face inches from Chris', his decaying breath flowing foully from his filthy mouth onto Chris' mortified face.

Chris heard Jill scream his name loudly, and as he fumbled, panic-ridden, for his gun, Forest tightened his iron grip and began to force his head downards towards Chris' neck, his mouth widening in anticipation.

Chris shreiked loudly and pushed against him as hard as he could, raising his other hand and forcing Forest's drooling face away from him, features twisted in repulsion and fear.

As Forest's head backed off unwillingly, his hellish eyes met Chris', and as they did, his posture tensed and became still, his wild stare softening and twitching in confusion.

Chris' blind panic dulled a little, and he loosened his grip on Forest's rough, bloodied face slightly.

"F..Forest...?" he asked tentatively, his gaze boring deep into those light, blasphemous eyes, willing him to recognise him, to remember him...

Forest mumbled incoherently, his withering tone diseased and ugly, the words merged together and meaningless.  
His face contorted as he wrestled with his lingering emotion, his features restless and twisted, his cracked fingers tightening and untightening sucessively on Chris shaking shoulders.

Finally, something left inside him seemed to crack, and he uttered a shreiking, mournful cry which echoed into the freezing air around them, and he released Chris' shivering form roughly, veering off to the side and howling.

Brad squealed as Forest swung in his direction, and he stumbled backwards hastily, tripping clumsily over his own feet and racing round the corner in terror.

Forest twisted the other way, making for the low balcony railings in front of him, Jill gasping and scurrying away along the ground over to where Chris stood in horror and confusion.

Forest hit the railings hard, doubling over and screeching piercingly at the floor in frustration, staring at Chris and Jill through grease-stricken, blood-soaked strands of hair, his unnatural breath panting noisily.

Jill had her arms tightly round Chris' calf, pressing her terrified figure against the wall, eyes wide with revulsion. Chris' gaze was also full of disgust, but tinged with a solemn pity and agonised resignment.

Forest howled a final time, his hellish eyes seared shut morbidly, and he swung himself sideways towards the balcony edge with force and speed, his broken body cascading over the sharp railings and disappearing into the gloom.

There was utter silence in the following seconds, apart from a distant, dull thump, and then a deafening stillness was all that remained.

Jill stumbled shakily to her feet, still clutching at Chris in shock and unease, and they both edged precariously over to the balcony railings, peering hesitantly over into the dank mist below.

The body of the once-proud Forest Speyer was splayed pitifully on the ground, revoltingly decrepit and mangled, wretchedly and undeniably... 

_Dead_.

Again.


End file.
